


Young gods

by sirusblack



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Drama & Romance, Espionage, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, Love Triangles, Multi, Original Character(s), Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, References to Depression, Social Anxiety, Teen Romance, Thriller, Tragic Romance, You'll be able to choose who you end up with, blood mention, shy reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-08-11 12:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16475714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirusblack/pseuds/sirusblack
Summary: "Mine," he whispers, firewhiskey on his lips and your heart in his hands, his grip possessive. He holds you like a promise, and he's never broken his promises.You smile at him, sliding onto his lap. Your hands are in his hair, combing through the lucious locks and he smells of sandalwood and adventure and in this moment, you really are young gods."Yours," you breathe, leaning in, your lips ghosting over his, "Forever and always."OrThe year is 1977. You’re a socially awkward sixteen year old, thrust into the heart of the war and tangled within the heart strings of three very different boys from very different worlds. Will you conquer Voldemort’s war, or will you be conquered by it? Only time will tell, and time can be the one bullet from behind that kills you.





	1. Teenage Dream or I'm Not In Love

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! Happy Halloween, folks! I know. I know. Starting two series at the same time? what the fuck am i doing? I just couldn’t resist writing this though, as a way to celebrate Halloween. Anyway, here ya go.

* * *

October 31st 1979 

* * *

 

Strangely, he wakes up hungover, half-naked and covered in blood. 

He’s lying on his back in a dark, eerily cold room, breathing in dust and mold and God knows what else, and he’s registering a sharp, prickling ache that’s drilling into his left shoulder and there’s a painful, thunderous pounding in his head that feels like someone is tearing a mother-fucking  _machete_  down the middle of his skull,  _fuck_ , and he wonders, dimly, if his will to live had dwindled so low last night that he’d mistaken some sort of chemical nightmare for fire whiskey and chugged the  _entire fucking thing_ because he’s literally burning from the inside out. 

 _Fuck_ he’s an idiot. Sirius Fucking Black, idiot of the century. He thinks about tattooing it across his head as a disclaimer, so people know that he’s not deliberately trying to be an idiot. Weirdly, though, all he can think about is how he desperately needs a fucking  _drink_ right now.

Sirius knows, he  _knows_ , that the lack of alcohol is the least of his problems.  He still doesn’t know if the blood on him is his or not or where the fuck he is. So, he pats down the length of his body, the calloused pads of his fingers brushing against dried blood, searching for some sort of injury, but he doesn’t find one. He checks his shoulder but realizes there’s no open wound.

Sirius groans, trying to sit up, thinking wistfully of the bottle of fire whiskey sitting on the kitchen bench, but his muscles bristle angrily in response, and he collapses back onto the bed, somehow more exhausted than he was only a few minutes ago. 

“Fuck,” he groans, fingers flying to his temples. He massages vigorous circles into the sides of his head, hoping to find some sort of relief. 

Sirius raises his wrist and squints in the dull light. The small nightingale she had sketched onto his skin is still there, preening her wings. He leans into the shard of moonlight that slants through the tiny window above him and follows the faint ‘invisible’ blue ribbon hanging from her beak. The ribbon – designed to be revealed only in the moon’s shadow – travels across his palm and wraps around his wedding finger like a ring. 

Sirius smiles weakly, watching as the nightingale raises her head and chirps at him through the barrier of his skin. He can’t hear her, obviously, but her silent song reminds him of his own little songbird. The songbird he’s captured in the spot beneath his ribcage. 

He needs to get out of here so he can find her. Kiss her. Reassure her of how much he loves her and how he’s going to fulfil his promise. 

With newfound determination, Sirius heaves himself off the bed, his entire body screaming in protest. Limbs trembling, he staggers toward the door and rattles the doorknob. Unsurprisingly, it’s locked. He checks the pockets of his jeans for his wand. Nothing. He’s going to have to do this the hard way. 

Sirius bends down and peeks through the keyhole. There’s an empty, metal chair sitting alone beside the door, left by the idiot who’s supposed to be guarding his room. That’s okay, he can work with idiocy. He  _is_  a self-proclaimed idiot. 

He presses his back against the wall, thinking fast. He needs to attract his captors’ attention somehow, draw them into his room and then he can attack. He can use the old sheets on his bed as a crude garrote of sorts, steal their wand, and blast his way out of here…

Still, he doesn’t know where he is. He could be marooned on an island. He’d have to transform into Padfoot and sneak himself onto a boat. They have to get their supplies somehow. Maybe if he climbs onto his bed and stretches himself out long enough, he’ll be able to peek out of that impossibly high window––

Sirius stops, inhales a sharp breath. Presses his ear to the door and strains to listen through it.  There are voices murmuring in the corridor, close enough for him to make out random words. If he’s quiet enough, he might just be able to hear them…

“–still have to listen to what Dumbledore says.” 

Sirius’ heart leaps into his throat. He knows those voices. He might not be trapped in enemy territory after all.

“–It’s  _wrong_ , Wormtail,” says a soft, weary voice. He realizes with a thrill that it’s Remus. “He’s…he’s not ready.” 

“No one is ready for the casualties of war,” Peter insists, his voice weak and hesitant, “I certainly wasn’t.” 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t have  _empathy_. Armies are built on  _trust_. This war shouldn’t give us an excuse to forget basic humanity, otherwise, we’re no better than the death eaters!” 

“Merlin, you two, would you just stop for  _one fucking minute_ ,” a new, very irate voice scolds through what sounds like gritted teeth and Sirius releases a shaky breath, an invisible helium balloon inside his ribcage bursting and a sigh of airy relief tickling his ribs. It’s James. He’s here, right now. 

Sirius can’t help but smile as he imagines James’ hand shooting through his hair and fiddling with the frame of his glasses. He always does that when he’s annoyed or when he’s thinking… 

After a long pause, James speaks again in a low murmur, sounding conflicted, “Dumbledore gave us orders. We–we have to obey them,” Sirius’ brows furrow in confusion. What is he going on about? “We have to tell Sirius that (Y/N) is dead.” 

Sirius leaps away from the door and staggers backwards. His thoughts reel and spiral out of control, like a tornado spinning the entire earth off its axis.

Dead? He had only seen her last night! This doesn’t make sense she can’t be–

Sirius’ throat constricts, goes dry and itchy. The hammering in his head gets louder. Something cold and venomous pierces his gut, his veins crystalizing, a sense of icy horror crawling up the length of his spine and plunging needles into each vertebra like a mad scientist. 

He remembers now. The blood on his skin, it’s not  _his_. 

It’s  _hers_. 

Dark, cold dread unhinges its jaws, swallows him whole. 

He lets it. 

The world goes black again. 

* * *

  October 31st 1977

* * *

 

Sirius Black is tall. 

Sirius Black has his coffee black. 

Sirius Black is messy and sarcastic and is fluent in seven languages and he smokes too much and swears even more, and he’s wearing an aviators jacket that makes him look even more dreamy,  _Merlin_ , and a silky ribbon of his offensively perfect hair falls gracefully over his annoyingly beautiful eyes, and that smirk, the one that does  _things_  to your body, hooks dangerously around the corners of his lips like a dare, a challenge, an invitation to reach up and kiss him-

Look, you’re not obsessed. You’re not. You’re just extremely observant and highly intuitive.  Not that it matters anyway, because Sirius Black has no idea that you exist. 

Normally, that wouldn’t phase you. You’re not exactly the bubbly, social butterfly that your grandmother wants you to be. Social gatherings are often too overwhelming and just the thought of conversing with drunk strangers makes your anxiety bubble over like a deadly, chemical reaction. So you often find yourself hiding in your common room, nose stuck between the pages of your books, immersed in a world where you don’t feel so invisible yet so obscenely obvious at the same time. 

But Sirius is…different. His charm. His allure. His bad boy looks that dress him as a teenage dream. There is something about him that tips your whole perspective out of balance. He transcends your rules, somehow.  

So it hurts when he looks at you as though he’s seeing straight through you like you’re transparent but not fortunate enough to be invisible. If it were anyone else, that would be okay. It’s  _okay_  for the whole world to ignore you, it’s  _okay_  to shrink to the corner of a room, unseen and unheard to all the people who are supposed to matter because it’s always been that way. But Sirius is different because his attention has to be earned, and something about that makes it feel like a rare privilege, enjoyed by a lucky few. 

And even though you’re not obsessed, (you’re not) you can’t help wondering what it would be like to win Sirius Black’s attention, even for a minute. 

Merlin. Maybe you are a little bit obsessed. 

You watch him from across the dungeon, your nimble fingers fiddling with the empty cup in your hands, as Sirius smirks lazily at James Potter, completely oblivious to your lingering gaze. He’s a patchwork of wild adventures and broken hearts like he had just sauntered out of a daydream, completely oblivious to the effect he has on you.  

“(Y/N)! Are you even listening to me?” Kaitlyn - one of the three people you can carry a conversation with - raises her brows expectantly at you, scrutinizing you from behind her glasses. She sighs, realization dawning on her “He’s standing behind me, isn’t he?” 

You nod meekly, eyes drifting back to Sirius. Kaitlyn’s thin lips pull back into an annoyingly obnoxious smirk as she watches you, amused. You feel yourself blush underneath her gaze, fingers finding the pendant on your necklace. 

“Stop looking at me like that! I’m–I’m not in love with him or something!”

Kaitlyn raises a sharp brow, “I never said you were.” 

Your cheeks burn, itchy and hot beneath your skin, as Kaitlyn chortles to herself and eyes you as though you were a toddler. 

“Would you just stop–  _no_ , stop that!” you snap, voice shrill and tinny as Kaitlyn’s laugh trails into a sigh. 

 “Fine. But – just so you know – you are so bloody  _obvious_. It’s unlike you and it’s super weird. Seriously, you need to tone it down, Kamilah Siad.” 

“Speaking of which,” You say, hurriedly changing the subject, “Where is Kamilah? She said she was getting a refill – that was half an hour ago…” 

Kaitlyn shrugs, “Who knows? She’s probably entertaining her other friends or flirting with some hot Hufflepuff.” 

You can’t help but snicker at Kaitlyn’s sardonic remark. Kamilah has become so popular, she’s had to create a mental roster, so she can spend time with all of her friends. It’s a wonder she’s managed to stay friends with you and Kaitlyn for so long, though you suppose it has something to do with the three of you being dorm mates. 

As if on cue, Kamilah finally strides up to you, several people craning their necks to glimpse at her as she passes. 

“How fucking  _wicked_  is this party?” Kamilah beams, “Are you glad I got us in or what?” 

Behind her, Sirius glances her way. It’s brief and subtle but it’s there and it stings. Kamilah is worthy of Sirius Black’s attention, even if it’s just for a second. Something about that hurts more than it should. 

And, if you’re honest, it’s hardly surprising. Kamilah Siad is the textbook definition of perfection. She’s one of the lucky ones; Long legged, bronzed-skinned and dark-eyed with a low, husky voice that could make the gods dedicate sonnets to her. It’s always been  _easy_  for Kamilah, and it makes you feel like you’re on different planets. Worlds away, yet only just a couple of meters or so from each other. 

“Guess who finally decided to show up!” Kaitlyn exclaims in mock surprise. Kamilah rolls her eyes. 

“My ex-stopped me on my way over,” Kamilah sighs, “She wants me to give her another chance.” 

“So are you?” You ask, eyes flicking between Kamilah and Sirius. He doesn’t seem interested in her from a distance, but a feeling of unease chews away at you anyway, “Are you going to give her another chance?” 

Kamilah gives a derisive scoff, “As if! I got over her the day I broke up with her. As my  _Nani_  always says, ‘A desperate woman is like a dog returning to eat its vomit. Are you a desperate woman, Kamilah?’ I hear her voice in my head every time I even glimpse at my ex’s.”

“That’s good to know,” Kaitlyn says, combing her fingers through her bob, “So where’s the punch again? I’m going to need all the punch that’s available to forget the gross dog vomit analogy.” 

Kamilah laughs but it trails into silence when she notices your uncomfortable expression, “What’s wrong? Why the long face?” 

You shift your weight and avoid her inquisitive gaze that practically pins you to the wall, “I just…I think I’m ready to go back to the dorm now.” 

An incredulous gasp escapes Kamilah’s perfect lips, “What? But you only just got here!” 

“Yeah, and I want to go,” you blurt, as a boisterous burst of laughter ripples over the rowdy crowd. 

“Come  _on_  (Y/N)! You never have fun,” Kamilah whines, tugging on your shirt.  

“I do have fun,” you snap, defensively, “I–I made a new trivia board game that covers the entire Goblin war with fun facts and action tiles! Remember when you landed on a ‘hop on one-foot’ tile?” 

Kamilah gives an exaggerated eye roll, “Your idea of ‘fun’ is seriously distorted. Come on, guys. It’s Halloween!” 

“Yeah,” Kaitlyn says, brows raised, “That’s what the thirty-first of October is typically known as.” 

Kamilah slaps Kaitlyn’s shoulder as the latter begins to chuckle playfully, “You know what I meant. Besides, Lily Evans is here, and she wants to meet you, Kaitlyn! We were chatting earlier and I think she and Potter–” Kamilah stops, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands, “You’ve been holding that empty cup all night. Are you keeping it as a memento or what?” 

Kaitlyn straightens her glasses, “She doesn’t want to walk across the room.” 

Kamilah snorts, “Um, why?” 

“It’s probably a mix of social anxiety and the fact that Sirius Black is standing near the bin.” 

You glower at Kaitlyn as she pushes her glasses up her nose, “Have you finished your deduction of my body language?” 

Kaitlyn shrugs and Kamilah giggles girlishly. 

“Why would that bother you? Sirius isn’t going to bite you,” Kamilah flicks her hair and glances over her shoulder, eying Sirius as though he were a delicious meal, “Well, unless you  _want_  him to, that is.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You snip, heat rushing to your face as something menacing twists your stomach into a knot. 

Kamilah gives another gracious laugh that flourishes in the air like petals in a breeze, “Nothing. I’m just joking. You really need to loosen up. Let me get you a drink,” 

Kamilah loops her hands around your and Kaitlyn’s wrists and drags you through the crowd. Sirius’ eyes follow her as she leaves. You feel oddly empty like someone has carved a hole in the pit of your stomach. 

You approach the drink table and Kamilah pours some punch into your cup and hands it to you, grinning wickedly. You take a tentative sip and swallow the sweet, sticky liquid. It sloshes around inside of you, mingling with the blood in your veins and buzzing like warm flames as your gaze drifts to Sirius. His eyes are lingering on Kamilah’s willowy form and the hole in your stomach seems to deepen. 

You down your cup and refill it to the brim. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!” says a voice from behind you. You spin around and force a smile onto your face at the sight of Remus Lupin. He’s flushed and looks exactly how you feel; a little drunk and very uncomfortable. 

“Oh, h-hey Remus,” you mutter, cheeks hot and palms clammy. Your head spins like a carousel; round and round and round and–

“Are you alright? You look…” he trails off wisely, thinking better of finishing the sentence. 

“I–I just need some space,” you murmur and flinch as a drunk Slytherin stumbles into you. 

“Sorry mate,” he grins, ruffling your hair and staggering toward the dancefloor. 

“I get what you mean,” Remus gives you a warm smile, eyes amicable and strangely calming, “We can go up to the Astronomy tower if you like?” 

You regard him in the low light, the way the ends of his mouth lift into an encouraging smile, gentle and unassuming, and you consider the way he’s always so considerate when you’re in the library together, how he’s always considered you worthy of his time and energy and how, at least in his eyes, you are not transparent. 

You bite your lip and tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Okay.”

Remus smiles. 

* * *

 

Sometime later, you’re leaning against the balcony of the Astronomy, tracing constellations with a good friend. There is a flask of elderflower wine between the two of you that you occasionally sip from, and the air so fresh and sweet up here, far away from the musky, body-odour tainted scent of the dungeons. You breathe in, tasting dew and moonlight and exhale the nervous energy as it uncoils inside of you.  

“Thanks for bringing me up here,” you smile, as Remus drapes his jacket over your shoulders.  

“I know it’s your favourite spot,” Remus says, smiling softly, “I believe it was here when I found you–”

Remus trails off, averting his gaze. The air shifts around you, and the temperature seems to drop, crystallizing the air. The memory that you had so carefully buried rises from the depths of the Tartarus deep inside of you, poking and prodding at your ribcage. You take a swig of your drink and swallow thickly, washing it back. 

“–After my parents died?” You finish, voice firm and bold, and Remus nods wordlessly. You shrug nonchalantly, ignoring the dull ache in your chest, “It’s okay, y’know. They died heroes.” 

“And everyone knows, trust me, they do. They respect that,” Remus lowers his voice to a soft murmur, still not meeting your eyes, “They still died though. And that must have been rough for you, you were only eleven.” 

“I guess,” you fiddle with your necklace, fingers sliding over the moon crescent with practised ease, “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve grown from it, my grandmother and my friends have helped me with that.” 

“And that’s what makes you so strong,” Remus smiles gently, “You know, you’re braver than you think.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek and stifle a giddy giggle, “I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like the world is…conspiring against me, you know?” 

Remus hums in agreement, “Yeah, I get that. But you know what makes it better? Knowing that you’re not alone.” 

Remus covers your hand with his own, warmth radiating through your skin, and smiles. He’s always had a radiant smile, the kind that reminds you of poetry and moonlight. But the smile in his eyes, the genuine part of a smile, that was always spectacular; a rare sighting for someone so weary and strained. Observing this calmer version of Remus is like glimpsing at the dark side of the moon; Intriguing yet so dazzlingly beautiful. 

“You’re such a good friend Remus, you know that?” 

Something unreadable ripples across his face, something you don’t quite recognize, and it’s gone before you can question it. He pulls his hand away and runs it through his sandy-brown locks, staring at his shoes. 

“Yeah,” he whispers into the wind, “Yeah, I guess I am just a friend.” 

You smile at him, at the way his rosy cheeks flush beneath the light dusting of freckles sprinkled across his thin face. They’re barely there, but when you’re close enough, you can actually count them, connect them like the sparkling constellations sprawled across the midnight sky above you. Not that you’re trying to…but it’s a feature that is incredibly endearing.  

You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes wandering over the landscape soaked in the moonlight. The two of you remain like that for a long, lovely moment, until you notice the way his hands tremble slightly. 

“Are you okay? Do you want your coat back?” you ask, turning to face him. 

“Oh, no,” Remus shakes his head dismissively, “I’m just– well –heights make me a little uncomfortable…”

You jaw slackens as you step away from him, guilt and concern burning uncomfortably in your chest. 

“Remus! Why did you bring me up here if you’re afraid of heights?” 

Remus studies you for a brief moment, weighing his options, as though he’s teetering on the edge of telling you something. He eventually sighs. 

“It’s not heights that’s the problem, it’s the…” Remus mumbles sheepishly, glancing at something behind you, “Never mind. I just–I saw you in there and I knew this would make you happy so…”

Something warm swells inside of you, like a star exploding inside of your chest. Adoration? Compassion? You’re not quite sure what it is, but it tugs in your stomach and pulls you toward him and, without realizing it, you’re wrapping your arms around his waist and you’re hugging him. After a moment, Remus returns the hug, arms holding you close as you listen to the way his heart hammers in his chest, warmth filling every cell in your body. 

It’s nice, and it’s everything you need right now. 


	2. Bad Liar or Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YISSSSS I got this done before I go away!! YAY!! okay so this chapter a Lot of Shit goes Down and the extreme feminist in me was like ‘hoe don’t do it!!!!……oh my god’ but this is necessary for the plot.

One of the worst days of your life begins with Sirius Black.

He is the first thing you see in the Great Hall on Monday morning, sitting at the Gryffindor table looking like one of your most beautiful daydreams. He looks so effortlessly handsome; those lips, those stupid lips that you want to  _do_   _things_  to, are pulled back into a lazy grin, and your heart falters, trembles, quivers like a butterfly tangled in a spider’s web, and  _Merlin_  he is an amalgam of broken hearts and every single synonym of the word beautiful.

Which is why you need to put as much distance between you and him as possible.

You mince to the other side of the Great Hall, ducking your chin and avoiding eye contact, deciding to stare at your feet.

“(Y/N)! Where are you going?” Kaitlyn paces up to you, struggling to keep up, “Our table is over there.”

“I know,” you murmur, curtaining your hair over your face, “I just-I’m going for a walk.”

Eventually, you make it to your house table and slide into your seat, ignoring Kaitlyn’s stare. Kaitlyn leans forward as you begin heaping food onto your plate.

“You know, he’s never going to notice you if you keep avoiding him,” she murmurs.

“I know,” you snip, avoiding her eyes, “That’s the point.”

“So, what? You’re just going to ignore him for the rest of your life?” Kaitlyn asks. You give her a silent response, so she continues, “What is the point of agonizing so desperately over someone that you’re never going to chat to?”

You heave out a sigh, still not meeting her eyes as you start eating. Kaitlyn plucks a piece of bacon from your plate and takes a large bite out of it. Your gaze snaps up to her as she gags, tosses the bacon rashers back onto your plate, and spits into her napkin.

“Bacon is still fucking gross and is an abomination of nature. No wonder Kamilah’s a vegan.”

“Well, why would you try to eat it?”

“I thought it may have changed,” Kaitlyn shrugs, “And I also wanted to get your attention because you were ignoring me.”

You roll your eyes and pile some fresh fruit into a separate cereal bowl, “I just don’t know what to tell you. He’s never going to notice me because I’m not…” you pause, thinking of Kamilah, “…I’m not noticeable.”  

“Maybe that’s because you don’t want to be noticed,” Kaitlyn muses, biting into a strawberry, “Maybe you’re feeling a little insecure.”

“Of course, I feel insecure! Sirius Black is handsome and gorgeous and beautiful…” you sigh, pushing your food around with your fork, “…and I’m-I’m me. The dreamer who doesn’t know the first thing about boys. I can barely talk to Professor Flitwick, and he’s my Head of House!”

Kaitlyn sighs and smiles softly as she steals a blueberry from your bowl, “You just have to learn to love yourself.” You scowl at her and Kaitlyn chuckles as she continues, “Look, self-love isn’t meditating and drinking spinach juice. It’s just listening to your…” she trails off, tilting her head, brows creasing as she studies something over your shoulder.

You raise your brows expectantly, “What is it?”

Kaitlyn refocuses on you and clears her throat, fidgeting with her glasses, “Nothing. As I was saying, self-care is listening to, not only your mind, but your heart. Knowing what you want.”

There is a beat of silence where neither of you says a word, mulling over Kaitlyn’s advice, but it’s broken by Kamilah Siad, who sits next to Kaitlyn wearing a dazzling smile.

“If you break into a corny song and cheesy dance routine, I will stab myself in the eye.”

A strange expression crosses Kaitlyn’s face, but before you can question her it’s gone, replaced by a thin smile, “Well, we all can’t have the confidence of a Siad.”

“That’s what makes us so special,” Kamilah winks, flashing another radiant smile, only this time it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She begins piling fruit onto her plate, not meeting your eyes, “So, guess who I ran into on the way over?”

You and Kaitlyn exchange a look, shrugging simultaneously, “Who?”

“Regulus Black,” Kamilah says, scandalously, and heat tickles your cheeks at the memories that his name resurrects, “Didn’t you and Regulus used to be friends in first year?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, something heavy and familiar twisting in your gut, “But that was years ago. Regulus is different now.”

“I’ll say,” Kamilah chimes, “He’s grown a lot taller. Not as handsome as his brother, unfortunately, but he still has that  _look_.”

“What do you mean?” Kaitlyn asks, taking a sip of her pumpkin juice.

“You know, that ‘Noble House of Black’ look? Aristocratic and filthy rich? He’s got pretty eyes, too.”

“I suppose,” you murmur, your finger sliding along the curve of the moon crescent on your necklace, “But it doesn’t matter now. We’re not friends anymore.”

“Shame, really,” Kamilah sighs, twirling a ribbon of silky, black hair around her slender finger, “He genuinely looks like he wants to be playmates again…”

You glance over at the Slytherin table, where you spot Regulus sitting with his friends. Your gazes connect for a moment before you hastily turn away, “It’s complicated. And he knows why.”

“Oh well,” Kamilah heaves out another dramatic sigh. She still hasn’t met your eyes, “He’s definitely boyfriend material. If I wasn’t–”

Kamilah cuts herself off and ducks her chin, impaling a strawberry with her fork. Both you and Kaitlyn share a look, brows raised.

“If you weren’t what?” Kaitlyn asks, though a part of you already knows the answer to her question.

“Nothing.”

“Come on, Kamilah,” Kaitlyn presses, a strange, stern look crossing her face like a shadow, “What is it?”

“I said, it’s  _nothing_!”

You lean forward, trying to match her gaze. A hint of a blush creeps up her swan-like neck, blossoming beneath her olive skin.

“Are you blushing?” you gasp, and Kamilah glowers at her food. A few of your housemates’ toss curious glances over at the three of you.

“No,” Kamilah grimaces, like she’s trying to convince herself that it’s true, “Now would you two  _stop_? People are  _looking_.”

“Not until you admit it,” you snip, leaning forward and poking her. A sweet laugh tumbles from Kamilah’s lips, and she finally meets your eyes.  

“Okay. Fine. I’m…seeing someone,” she whispers, glancing at Kaitlyn, “But it’s all very new.”

“How new?” Kaitlyn asks, folding her arms over her chest.

“Well, we decided to start the relationship part on Friday night.”  

“Was that where you were during the Halloween party? With your…significant other?” you ask, thinking back to the crowded dungeon and the thumping music.

“My boyfriend,” Kamilah suddenly beams, the word like honey on her mouth, “And yes. I was.”

“Why didn’t you tell us–”

“–Who is it?” Kaitlyn interjects, her tone curt and carefully clipped, “Tell us who your new boyfriend is, Kamilah.”

Kamilah drills Kaitlyn with a sharp, unforgivable glare.  

“Alright,” Kaitlyn shrugs, apathetically, “If that’s how you want to play it, then fine. Just…remember what’s at stake here.”

You take a very loud sip from your pumpkin juice, suddenly feeling smothered by the tension clouding your friends.

“You sound like you already know who Kamilah’s boyfriend is,” you bleat a nervous laugh, “Besides, it’s time for Potions, and Professor Slughorn will have our heads if Kamilah is late again.”

Kamilah nods and begins to collect her things, flinching beneath Kaitlyn’s penetrating stare. As they collect their bags, you throw a furtive glance over to Sirius one more time, just so you can frame him in your mind for the rest of the morning.

Sirius is already gone.

* * *

 

“So today, my young pupils, we will start our studies on one of the most difficult potions of this class,” Professor Slughorn flicks his wand, and a stick of chalk spells out the name of ‘ _The Draught of Peace_.’

You nudge Kaitlyn but she only shrugs, a strained smile playing on her lips. She’s still simmering from her argument with Kamilah.  

Kamilah is the complete opposite. It already looks like she’s completely forgotten about the argument as she sits upright on her stool, perfectly composed, her wrist flourishing as she draws lazy, languid circles on her book. Like Sirius, Kamilah’s attention must be earned, and, clearly, Potions with Professor Slughorn is not worthy enough to warrant her full attention.

“Now, since I don’t trust any of you to focus on your work,” Professor Slughorn begins, ambling toward Kamilah with his hands in his pockets, “I have arranged a seating plan, and whoever you sit next to will be your partner for the rest of the year.”

A loud groan of protest issues over the classroom and Professor Slughorn flaps his hand dismissively. A sharp thread of nervous energy hooks itself around your stomach and yanks it into your throat at the thought of sitting next to anyone who isn’t your friends. You begin to frantically rub your necklace, your knee bouncing nervously beneath the table.

“Right, once you lot learn to grow up,” Professor Slughorn begins, sniffing as he adjusts his glasses onto his face and holds up a sheet of parchment, “I will call out who is sitting where.”

Professor Slughorn goes through the entire class, students reluctantly tearing themselves away from their friends and sitting with their assigned partners. When he reaches your name, he lowers the parchment and considers you over his glasses, smiling fondly.

“I wonder what it’s like to be a Slug…?” Kamilah murmurs, a teasing glint in her dark eyes.

“Miss Siad,” Professor Slughorn chides, “Two things: First, I am  _Professor_  Slughorn to you. Second, you will be sitting next to Mr Victor Crabbe.” Kamilah opens her mouth to protest but Slughorn holds up his hand, “Well, Miss Siad? Run along now.”

Kamilah grips the edges of her books and stomps toward Crabbe, who looks as though he’s won the lottery (He, like many, has had a crush on Kamilah since first year). Crabbe has been known to emit a particular odour which, at one point, was so strong Professor McGonagall had to force him into the showers. So, when Kamilah pinches her nose in disgust and turns away from him, no one can blame her.    

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Professor Slughorn turns back to you, “Miss Ashton. You can stay where you are, but your partner will be…” he pauses, eyes scanning the room, “Oh, yes. Mr Black.”

You blink, jaw slackening, your grip on your necklace tightening.

“W–What?” you splutter, your breath an uncomfortable lump caught in your throat

“Mr Black, I expect you and Miss Ashton to create wonderful potions, given your shared skill on the topic.”

You hear the scrape of Regulus’ wooden stool and his footsteps clapping against the floor as he approaches the empty seat beside you. You don’t even dare to look at him, your body completely rigid and still as Regulus nervously taps the tip of his quill on his parchment. He doesn’t say anything, either; he keeps throwing glances at his friends in the corner of the room.

Finally, Professor Slughorn finishes, looking up from his parchment with a small, satisfied grin. He barks a laugh at all the glum expressions of his students, having been separated from their mates.

“Oh, do grow up you lot,” Professor Slughorn scolds, “It’s only for a couple of hours. You’re not going to die without them, surely.”

Silently, you beg to differ.

* * *

***

Professor Slughorns usual, rambling lecture stretches over half an hour, yet you’ve barely heard a word.

You’re strangely hyper-aware of everything around you, sensitive to Regulus’ movements through your peripherals. In fact, you’re so alert to Regulus and the space around him, you don’t even realise when Professor Slughorn stops talking.

It’s only when people start moving around you that you snap back into yourself.

“Should I–”

“-I’m going to get the ingredients,” You snap, shrilly. Without giving him a second glance, you rip yourself away from the table and rush over to the shelves, ingredient list in hand.

“–how (Y/N) feels!”

You freeze at the sound of your name and peek around the corner to a conceive of shelves. Kaitlyn and Kamilah are having a whispered argument. Kamilah’s hands are resting on her slender waist and she keeps shifting her weight; a classic nervous tick that you pick up immediately. Kaitlyn has her arms crossed, closing herself off from Kamilah.

They both look extremely pissed off.

“I will tell her, Kaitlyn!” Kamilah hisses, “I’m just…I’m…”

Kaitlyn barks a derisive laugh of disbelief, “You’re scared! Because you know you’ve fucked up and Kamilah Siad can’t fuck up, no she has to be perfect.”

“You know that’s a lie!” Kamilah seethes, voice cold and deadly. Kaitlyn isn’t afraid. She’s never been afraid of Kamilah.

“Is it though? Because if you weren’t afraid, you would tell her. Right now.”

“What am I going to say?” Kamilah snaps, venomously, “Oh, sorry (Y/N), I’ve been fucking your crush on the side for nearly four months!? Do you realise how much of a  _bitch_  I would sound?!”

You take a sharp breath in; it feels like the tip of a knife pressing against the wall of your throat. No, you must have misheard…

Kaitlyn gives a cold, derisive scoff, “Oh, no Kamilah, you have  _transcended_  every single layer of bitchiness. In fact, you are so far up Satan’s ass you’re basically living in his throat, and the fact that you can’t see that makes everything worse. What were you  _thinking_? After everything (Y/N) has been through, everything she’s done for  _you_ …”

Kamilah irons out the front of her skirt, flicking her hair over her shoulder, “It’s not like (Y/N) was going for it! Besides, she doesn’t have a claim over him just because she likes him… I like him too!”

“No, Kamilah, you don’t like anyone,” Kaitlyn says, glowering at Kamilah, “You’re just vain and selfish and you enjoy the attention you get from boys like Sirius Black because you can use that over (Y/N).”

Kamilah opens her mouth to argue but Kaitlyn holds up a hand, “Just say something. (Y/N) deserves to hear the truth about you and Sirius and this whole fucking mess.”

Tears prick your eyes as you rush away, dashing toward your table. With trembling hands, you place all the ingredients on the table and get to work, wordlessly. Regulus doesn’t say anything, as he starts to help you.

“Can you please pass me the dried bat wings?” You whisper, voice cracking as you struggle to clamp down on your quivering emotions. Regulus hands you the bottle and you try to measure out a tablespoon with shaky hands.

“Would you like me-?” Regulus begins, raising his hand to cover yours as he tries to pry the spoon away.

“I’m fine,” you breathe, and as you say it, you manage to pour the powder all over your apron and onto the floor.

You curse, exhaling a shaky breath as Regulus pulls out his wand and mutters a spell. The powder floats through the air and retreats back into the bottle. You drop onto your stool, vision swimming in salty tears.

“Do you want a tissue?” Regulus asks and you lift your gaze to match his, studying him shrewdly.

“Do I want a tissue?” you repeat, somewhat sardonically. Regulus shrugs.

“Asking if you’re okay seems like a stupid question so…would you like a tissue?”

You sigh and wipe away your tears, “I’m going to need a lot more than just tissues to mop up this mess.”

Regulus sits down beside you, his hand hovering, hesitating over yours. He ultimately decides to rest his hand next to yours, close, but not touching, “I get that.”

“I’m not sure you do…” you mumble, curtaining your hair over your face to hide your tears.

“Well, regardless if you think I understand or not, just know that I’m still here for you,” Regulus reassures, the tip of his finger ghosting over your own, “I’ve always been here for you.”

You force a tight-lipped smile across your face and sigh, “Even after all this time?”

“Of course,” Regulus flashes a gentle smile, “It wasn’t that long ago that we were best friends, you know…”

“Yeah, shame you allowed your parents’ views to influence you.”

Regulus winces, tearing his gaze away from yours and dropping it to his feet. He runs a hand through his silky, black hair, “Let’s try to keep politics out of this…”

“Politics is the whole reason I left, Regulus,” you hiss, and Regulus snaps back up at that, eyes pinning you with a glare.

“No, it wasn’t,” Regulus spits, “The reason you left was because of Sirius Black.”

“And how are things going here?” Professor Slughorn queries, bending over to peer into your cauldron, “You two haven’t even started your potion!”

You tear your glare away from Regulus and slide off your stool, standing upright as you begin pouring in the ingredients.

“Sorry, Professor, we just got distracted. It won’t happen again,” you force a smile onto your face and Professor Slughorn gives a little grunt, nodding before leaving your table.

You refuse to talk to Regulus for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

 

When you spot Remus on your way back to your common room, you nearly burst into tears right then and there.  

Remus’ smile fades when he notices your upset expression, unmasked and bare to him. You can’t help it; he has a way of drawing your deepest thoughts out, but in a way that doesn’t threaten or assume. You could offer him your broken, bleeding heart and he’d still somehow be able to stitch it back together again.  

Remus whispers something to James Potter, who glances at you and grins before stalking off toward the Great Hall.

“(Y/N)! What’s wrong?” Remus asks, concern weaved heavily into his words like a thick thread, “What happened? Who hurt you?”

You give a little sniffle and avert your watery gaze, “It’s K-Kamilah, she–”

A sob tears up the length of your throat, leaving a dry ache in it’s wake as you dissolve. Remus envelopes you in a warm hug, arms folding around you like they could shield you from the entire world.  He rubs your back soothingly, running a finger down your spine, and you shudder in his arms, burying your face in his chest and breathing in the subtle scent of cinnamon.

“It’s okay, I’m here. Always.”

You peel yourself away from Remus’ embrace and swipe your tears away, “It’s so stupid, all this drama, but it-it still  _hurts_.”

“Of course it does,” Remus rests a hand on your shoulder, ducking his gaze to meet your eyes, “Lets go for a walk, ‘kay?.”

Remus delicately tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and traces a finger down your jaw. The warmth of his hand ghosts over your skin as his fingers trail down your neck, taking in every inch of you as he can. A shiver rolls down your spine and you close your eyes, inviting the warmth and letting it sink into your trembling soul.

Then, quite suddenly, he tears away, leaving your skin cold in the wake of his hasty departure. Your eyes snap open to find Remus’ deep blue eyes touched with apologetic regret.  

“Sorry I-“

“-No, it’s okay,” you mumble, your voice soft and caught in the back of your throat.

You and Remus walk through the courtyard as you pour out everything that has been tightly bottled inside of you, and Remus seems to know this; he listens with rapt attention as you tell him everything. By the time you finish, you can taste salt on your lip and your cheeks are damp, stinging from your tears.

There is a brief silence when you trail off where Remus seems to soak up all the information, and then he stops, roping you into a hug. You return the hug, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your head to your heart, where you can hear the rhythmic beating of his heart, allowing it to anchor you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, rubbing soothing patterns onto your back as though he were trying to massage your worries away, “You don’t deserve any of this.”

You break away from him and peer up at him. Remus wipes away a stray tear, letting his hand drift across your cheek and linger on your skin.

“But I should have said something sooner,” you rasp, voice broken from your sobbing, “I can’t be mad at Kamilah for pursuing a relationship that makes her happy…”

“Kamilah betrayed you, (Y/N),” Remus says, a distinguishable sharpness in his tone, “She knew how you felt and she deliberately chose to hurt you. She could have said no.”

“But I wasn’t dating Sirius,” you murmur, cheeks reddening, “I just like him…” you trail off, sliding your bottom lip through your top teeth and Remus rubs a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“(Y/N), the reason why Kamilah didn’t say anything to you was because she  _knew_  she had done something wrong. She was too scared to admit she was in a relationship with someone you–” Remus pauses reluctantly and winces, before his face relaxes into an encouraging smile, “–Look, you did nothing wrong. You shouldn’t have to feel guilty.”

You hesitate, considering him carefully. He’s always had a way with words, but this time, you really do believe he’s right. So why do you feel like you’re to blame in this whole ordeal?

A blood-curdling shriek wrenches through the air, shattering the moment. You and Remus give each other one final glance before following the sound of the noise, picking up the speed as the shrieking gets louder.

You round the corner and find a crowd knotted together, standing around something. You and Remus shoulder past, mumbling soft apologies until you find out just what they were staring at.

Kaitlyn and Kamilah stand opposite each other. Kaitlyn’s glasses are askew on her flushed face and she’s clutching her shoulder. You allow your eyes to travel from Kaitlyn to Kamilah and you–

You gasp, clamping a hand over your mouth and rushing toward Kamilah.

Kamilah’s make-up is streaked with tears, her lips trembling, her eyes wild and panicked, widened with fear, but that’s not even the worse bit–

It’s her  _hair_.

Kamilah’s long, luscious hair has vanished, replaced with a mop of hissing, writhing snakes. Kaitlyn must have hexed her with some ancient magic you’re both learning about in Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

“I’m going to go and get Professor Flitwick,” Remus says, dashing away from you. You turn back to Kamilah and rest a hand on her shoulder.

“ _She_  did this to me!” Kamilah screeches, pointing a shaky finger at Kaitlyn, “She turned me into–into– _oh_  my  _hair_!”

“Maybe then you’ll learn a lesson in vanity,” Kaitlyn spits, as venomously as the dozens of snakes thrashing around atop of Kamilah’s head.

“You crazy  _bitch_!” Kamilah barks, “You stupid, crazy  _bitch_!”

Kamilah begins to rattle off curses in Urdu as she charges toward Kaitlyn. You step between them and Kamilah immediately backs away, not wanting to hurt you, “Stop it. Both of you.”

“It’s her fault,” Kaitlyn points an accusing finger at Kamilah, “She started all of this shit.”

“I don’t care,” you snap, “I can’t believe that, at a time where witches should be working together, you’re pitting yourselves  _against_ each other. And for what?”

Both Kamilah and Kaitlyn avert their gazes, ashamed of their outburst for a moment. Then, Kaitlyn juts her chin at Kamilah. 

“Go on, then,” Kaitlyn juts her chin at Kamilah, “Tell (Y/N) what this is really about.”

Kamilah drops her gaze, cheeks burning in shame, “I–I’ve been sleeping with Sirius, (Y/N).”

You blink, not realizing how much of a profound impact Kamilah’s confession would have on you. It stings in that spot right in the center of your chest and radiates outward, but you manage to keep a cold, composed expression fixed over your heartache. You inhale deeply, letting the air swell in your lungs, focusing on the churning energy inside of you.

“I know,” you murmur, calmly, and Kamilah straightens in surprise, her mouth flapping open. Her mouth moves around strings of silent excuses but before she can say another word, Professor Flitwick comes storming through the crowd.

“Alright, you lot,” Professor Flitwick’s voice washes over the crowd, “Show’s over. If you don’t leave now, I will have to start taking points.”

Professor Flitwick turns to the three of you, mutters a counter-curse, and Kamilah’s thick, black hair rolls back down her shoulders again. Kamilah rakes her fingers through her tresses and tugs on them appreciatively, bringing them up to her face and beaming.

“Thank you, Professor,,” Kamilah sighs. Kaitlyn rolls her eyes.

“Don’t thank me yet, Miss Siad,” Professor Flitwick says, his tone leaking with disappointment, and Kaitlyn grimaces at the sound of it, “Right, Miss Siad, Miss O’Hara and Miss Ashton, please come with me. Mr Lupin, thank you for coming to get me.”

Remus glances at you as you walk past and you reach out, grazing a finger across his hand. You still feel his eyes following you as Professor Flitwick leads you away and toward his office.

* * *

 

All three of you are silent as you walk back to the Ravenclaw common room.

Not only did Professor Flitwick deduct twenty points from Ravenclaw, but he also sent Kamilah and Kaitlyn to two months’ worth of detentions. Kamilah will be spending it in the Potions dungeons, cleaning up dirty cauldrons with a special polishing scrub. Kaitlyn has been sentenced to helping Hagrid clean up after Care of Magical Creatures classes.

As for you, well, your detention-free record remains unblemished, for now.

Kaitlyn’s lips are twisted into a thin, tight frown as she stomps ahead of you, her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at her side. She has refused to look at Kamilah since she left Professor Flitwick’s office.

Behind you, Kamilah ambles lazily, stroking her hair appreciatively. Usually, arguments slide off Kamilah like butter, but today she is uncharacteristically silent. You suppose having one of your best friends turn your beloved hair into snakes wouldn’t help the cause.

When you finally reach the Great Hall, a hush rolls over the table, everyone trying to catch a glimpse of the three of you. Eyes follow you as you walk down the hall to the Ravenclaw table, and they watch you as you sit down, spread out from one another. Your cheeks burn, all hot and itchy beneath your skin. You want to shrink into a crack in the earth and live there forever.

Kamilah flounces off to her other Ravenclaw friends, who begin smothering her in pitied looks and coos. She plays on their attention, even shedding a few, shameful tears, and they up their efforts.

“Must be nice having your tiny cock in everyone’s mouth,” Kaitlyn snaps, loudly enough for Kamilah and her friends to hear. Kamilah’s smile falters.

“Did you hear something?” Kamilah asks, cocking her head to the side, “It’s probably nothing.”

Kaitlyn opens her mouth to bark out another snappy retort but you slam your fork onto the table, “Would you stop it? Please?”

Kaitlyn considers your pleading, tearful eyes and sighs, her face softening, “I’m so sorry about all of this.”

You shrug, arranging your face into a mask of apathy, “I’ve been through worse things.”

A peel of delighted laughter echoes across the table. You glance at Kamilah’s side of the table, and a sharp pang ripples across your chest.

Sirius has sauntered over to her side of the table and is now playing with her hair, pushing it back so he can trail kisses down her neck. Her other friends smile, equal parts envious and in awe, as they watch Kamilah lean in to kiss Sirius.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” you whisper, springing from your seat and racing back toward the Ravenclaw common room.

You really need today to be over already.

* * *

  
No matter how many times you twist and turn in bed, you can not fall asleep.

The entire day seems to play on loop in your brain like a horror film, recounting the events minute by minute. You sigh, rolling in your sheets, tears of frustration pricking your eyes. Maybe a walk will help…

Quietly, you peer through the curtains of your four-poster bed. Everyone is still asleep, which should make sneaking out easy.

Carefully, you slip out of your bed, throw your robes over your shoulders and pin your Prefect badge to your chest. That way, if anyone questions you, you can brush them off with a fairly realistic excuse. Slowly, you sneak of your room, creep down the winding staircase, and out of the Ravenclaw common room. You release a sigh of relief when you hear the door click shut behind you, grateful that you managed to slip out without waking anyone up. You make your way down the tightly-winding spiral staircase and lose yourself in the castle.

You love the Castle at night.

It’s quiet and empty, with none of the noise that the crowds carry through every corner and corridor. You especially love exploring on a full moon. Some nights, when you’re on Prefect duty, you allow yourself to wander directionless, just so you can bask in the moons ghostly shadow, allowing it to soak into your skin and spread through your body like moon dust.

You reach up to fiddle with your necklace, allowing your finger to slide across the cold, white-gold moon pendant. The last gift you ever received from your parents was this necklace, and you have never taken it off since. You’re tempted to allow your mind to drift to that very dark crevice in your mind, to allow it to swallow you whole and embrace all of those bottled memories you’ve carefully hid away.

You know for a fact that it’s unhealthy to bury everything deep inside of you but, sometimes, it’s too painful to crack open old tombstones and watch the memories spill out like unsettled spirits. That day had been so long ago; you were just a child, young and naïve and really, truly believing that you would see your parents again, that they would be protected in the same way that they protected others–

You scream as someone yanks you behind a tapestry and clamps a hand over your mouth. They’re strong, pulling you against them and holding you against the wall, an arm wrapped around your waist so they can tug you close to their chest.

You try to thrash but they have you locked in place. Your heart pounds against your chest like a fist threatening to punch its way out. Your screams are lumped together in your throat like a dry pill stuck halfway through.

“Don’t. move.” 

Today  _really_  needs to end.


	3. The Less I Know the Better or Landslide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is finally here and we can finally delve into the plot! Thanks to all of your comments and kudos about this series and Chaos Theory !! My heart is a balloon swelling in my chest everytime i am notified! I’m going to try and get Chapter four out before Christmas but we’ll see how it goes 🧡🧡

It would be an understatement to say that being held hostage in the vice-like grip of a complete stranger is an unsavoury position to be in. 

His – yes,  _his_ – hand is clamped over your lips, forcing the shriek in your mouth down your throat and into your screaming lungs as he wraps a strong arm around your waist, pressing your back against his firm chest, and his voice, hot and heavy, rasps a warning against your ear. 

“Don’t. Move.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut and try to relax. Panicking isn’t going to help in this situation; you have to keep calm and composed, prepared for anything and attentive to everything.

You try to focus on your pounding heart that is threatening to bound out of your chest. Imagining it pumping blood throughout your entire body, you follow the veins and arteries that travel like highways beneath your skin and feel the way the warm blood pulses through your body. Eventually, you relax into his grip, the clouds in your mind drifting as you try to think up a plan. 

Now much calmer, your mind sprints through various plans of attack, the first being quite obvious; stomping on his toe, headbutting him in the head, and kicking him in the groin. But before you even get to step one, you hear footsteps echoing down the corridor and the arm around your waist tightens. 

“Stay quiet,” he orders in a low, gravelly murmur, just as two figures come into view. 

“-is absolutely necessary,” says a familiar, oily voice, “The Dark Lord needs to be able to trust you.” 

Almost immediately, you recognize two Slytherin boys; one tall, thin and placid and the other a handsome, slightly shorter sixth year. They seem to be deep in discussion, pacing briskly down the corridor before they stop just beside you, and you realize with a shock two very important things at the same time: 

  1. They can’t see you, even though you’re a few meters or so away from them, and
  2. The two boys are Severus Snape and Regulus Black. 



Your heart sinks, plummeting through your chest like a knot of blood and muscle as you watch Regulus. You knew that his parents were strict and cruel, but you never really expected their twisted way of thinking to influence Regulus to the point where he actively wants to serve Voldemort. You look at him and see a shell of the boy you had once considered your friend. 

“I’ll do whatever’s necessary,” Regulus murmurs, “For the Dark Lord and for the Noble House of Black.” 

Severus scrutinises Regulus coldly in the shard of moonlight that slants over Regulus’ form. His black, beady eyes seem to be burning through him, trying to crack open his skull and read his thoughts like fortune cookies. 

He glances around, checking to make sure the corridor is completely empty and your heart skips a beat as his dark eyes sweep past you. Finally, he leans forward and murmurs. 

“It’s going to take more than just words. The Dark Lord will need to see proof.” 

“Of course,” Regulus nods, “Whatever he desires.” 

Severus raises a brow, “Even if he desires the half-blood you were sitting next to today in Potions?” 

Regulus’ mouth flaps open wordlessly, taken off guard, “How did you-?” 

“We know everything, Regulus. It’s our job to keep an eye on potential Death Eaters. Watch them for…discrepancies that could put the Dark Lord’s plans in jeopardy.” 

Regulus nods in understanding, “What use would a shy half-blood have to the Dark Lord?” 

“Well,” Severus begins, “Her parents proved to be a - er -  _nuisance_  to his mission. And we all know the Dark Lord appreciates beauty…” 

In the shadows, Regulus’ face is impassive and cold, a blank sheet as he bows his head in submission, “What is it that he has me do?” 

“Kill her.” 

Regulus’ expression shifts, ripples for a split second before he corrects himself, fixing a mask of indifference back over his face.   

“Why bother to waste time on the half-blood when we could be achieving much more for the cause?” Regulus asks, coolly. 

“She may be a distraction,” Severus snips, accusingly, “You may develop feelings for her…if you haven’t already.” 

Regulus swallows thickly, drops his gaze to his feet, “I’d rather help the Dark Lord achieve greater things than worry about such trivial and childish matters.” 

“Then killing her shouldn’t be a problem,” Severus concludes, watching Regulus squirm with glittering eyes. 

Regulus nods, and for a moment, there is a long, dramatic silence that rings out through the corridor. You feel your heart thumping in your throat, hot blood gushing through your veins and roaring in your ears. The stranger tightens his hold on you even more, as though he were trying to pop the ribs in your rib cage one by one. 

Finally, Severus narrows his eyes and frowns in disappointment, “You are not ready Regulus. And if you aren’t ready for a simple test from a seventh year like me, then you are embarrassingly unprepared for the Dark Lord.” 

Regulus ducks his chin, staring at his feet in shame, “That was a test?” 

Severus barks a sharp laugh that lacks any warmth or amusement, “Of course it was! Killing the half-blood would attract unwanted attention! Besides, you said it yourself, the Dark Lord doesn’t have any use for her death. She isn’t a threat.” 

Regulus nods, shoots a hand through his hair, “How can I… impress the Dark Lord then?” 

Severus’ smile fades a shadow crossing over his face, “Conviction, Regulus. The only way to convince the Dark Lord that you are loyal to his mission is conviction. You must truly want this, not for your family or your little half-blood…but for  _you_. Then, you will reap the benefits, and you will know what true power really is.” 

Severus leaves at that, his oversized robes billowing behind him. Regulus watches him for a moment, lost in thought before he follows. 

There is a beat of silence where you try to sift through everything that has just happened. Regulus serving Voldemort? A dull ache ripples across your chest at the thought of it. 

You suddenly become aware that the arm around your waist has slackened and the stranger has removed his hand from your mouth. You wrench yourself free, stumbling forward, gasping for air and wheeling around to stare at your attacker- 

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Sirius Black?” You breathe, watching as Sirius steps out from the tapestry. A fierce, powerful kind of raw energy rolls off him and he’s all sharp lines and firm edges; his jaw clenched and his eyes dark, focused,  _determined_ , his knuckles white from where they’re clenched into fists at his side and he looks so dangerous, so passionate, so  _alluring_ - 

“You nearly ruined our mission!” he growls, angrily, glare pinning you to the wall like the tip of a blade, “What the fuck were you-?”

“Lay off her, Padfoot!” says a voice from behind, and you turn to find James Potter striding toward you, his hands in his pockets and his hazel eyes glinting. He flashes you a charming smile and winks as he approaches, “She didn’t know.” 

James turns to you and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder, “You alright? Sirius suffers from asshole disease and it’s incurable.” 

You nod, swallowing thickly and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as Sirius shoves past you. 

 _Merlin,_  you feel so stupid. You just want to shrink away, slip into a shadow and vanish forever. 

“Did you hear him?” Sirius snaps, venomous disdain dripping from his voice, “Regulus, the git. He’s going to run off and be Voldemort’s little bitch boy!” 

“I know, Padfoot,” James says, reassuringly, “But try to keep your voice down. We’ll figure something out.” 

James retrieves a small mirror from his pocket and taps it with his wand, “Moony! You there?” 

Silence. White noise burns in your ears, the silence somehow louder than a blaring siren. You feel ridiculous standing here, feet rooted to the spot as you watch, helplessly.

“Moony? Moony!” James snaps, “If you don’t pick up right this instant–”

“–Prongs,” hisses the mirror in Remus’ voice, startling you and interrupting James. 

“Bout time!” James whispers, his face pinched with concern, “I was starting to think you and Wormtail stopped for a nap. You guys alright?” 

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Remus sighs, wearily, “Mulciber and Avery just passed. They must be having some sort of secret meeting in the Restricted Section of the Library. Risky, but what else do you expect from them, really…?”

James nods as though this confirmed his suspicions, “Right. Well, Snape is heading West. You got the map there so you should be fine,” James pauses, flicks a cautious gaze at Sirius, “He’s–He’s with Regulus.” 

There’s a long, measured silence that bleeds through the mirror and mingles with the undeniable tension clouding the air. You feel like you’re witnessing something you shouldn’t be; glimpsing behind a curtain designed to keep prying eyes away. 

“What do you want us to do?” the mirror finally asks in a different voice. You recognise it as belonging to Peter Pettigrew. 

James’ eyes continue to follow a pacing Sirius, mentally considering his options, “I-I think that’s enough for tonight. Besides, we have a Ravenclaw Prefect here that we need to take back to the common room.” 

“Really?” Peter’s voice sounds surprised, “Who?” 

“See for yourself,” James grins, waving you over, “Come say hello.” 

You meekly approach James and he smiles reassuringly as though he can sense your discomfort. He hands you the small, rather insignificant mirror, and you gasp when you’re met with Remus and Peters stunned faces. 

“(Y/N),” Remus splutters, cheeks reddening, “Er-Hi…” 

“Hi,” you mumble, voice soft on your lips, “How-How are you?” 

“Um I’m…I’m good…” Remus flashes a gentle smile and Sirius groans. 

“Okay, this conversation is officially over,” He snatches the mirror from your grasp and waves his wand over the surface. Remus and Peter’s faces vanish, revealing only Sirius’ stern reflection, cast in cool shades of black and grey from the moonlight.  

“And that was fucking  _rude_ ,” James chides, straightening his glasses, “Look, mate, I know things suck right now but you have to keep a level head.” 

Sirius considers James for a long moment, eyes glinting like the sharp edge of a knife. He then turns to you, narrows his eyes, sweeps his gaze from your face to your Prefect badge and then up again. 

You don’t feel quite as transparent anymore. 

You recoil under the intensity of his gaze, shifting your weight and ducking your chin. It feels incredibly hot in the corridor like Sirius has captured the fiery glare of a thousand suns and is pouring it over you. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, finger twirling around the edges. 

Finally, Sirius sighs and turns back to James, “Whatever. Look, I’ll take her back to the Ravenclaw common room so you can go and meet Remus and Peter.” 

James nods, “Alright. Meet us back at the Common Room…we’ll sort something out. Oh, you should take this,” James tosses something at Sirius, but you don’t quite see it. It must have been something small…

Sirius drapes something over your shoulders and pulls you to his side, holding you close. You gasp at the sudden, fluid action, hyper-aware of Sirius’ strong and firm body beside you. 

“What-?” 

“It’s an Invisibility Cloak,” Sirius snips, curtly. 

“O-oh,” Your cheeks burn in shame as you avert your gaze, staring at your sweating palms. Never in a million years would you have expected to be so close to Sirius Black, yet here you are and it’s worse than any nightmare your brain could conjure. 

You start to make your way toward the Ravenclaw common room in silence, shuffling down corridors and up and down stairs. You can sense the heat emanating off Sirius’ body and you close your eyes, feeling it soak through your skin as you breathe in his musky scent and let it blossom in your lungs. Why is it that you want this moment to simultaneously end immediately and stretch on forever? 

When you finally reach your common room, Sirius pulls the cloak off you and you dash toward the door. As you’re about to reach the door handle, you pause, hesitating, and before you can even comprehend what you’re doing, you’re turning back toward Sirius like a fool. 

“I know it’s not my place to say but-but I knew Regulus and a part of me still cares about him very much and I-I will always have hope that he will come to his senses.” 

Sirius’ eyes sharpen as he glares at you for a long, drawn-out moment. Your eyes flit away from him, staring at the ground, unsure if he’s going to speak. 

“You’re right,” he finally snarls, darkly, “Ifs not your place to say.” 

With that, he wheels around, wraps the invisibility cloak around himself and vanishes into the night. 

You stare at where he had been standing, shame burning into your cheeks like acid. Tired, hurt and embarrassed, you mindlessly answer the riddle and are admitted into the Ravenclaw common room. 

Your body takes you to your dormitory without really thinking about it and you slip into your bedroom, finding it undisturbed from when you left. You slip out of your robes and fold them perfectly, in the way your mother taught you, before placing them on your trunk and throwing back the sheets to your bed. You pause, hesitating in front of your bed, glancing between your window seat and your four poster.

You creep toward the window seat and settle into the plush cushions, resting your back against them and hugging your knees to your chest. You gaze out into the clear, night sky, star gazing from your seat, tracing constellations with your eyes as your mind drifting away from you like a kite caught in a turbulent gust of wind… 

All these years you’ve pined for Sirius, dreamt of him, stolen him from his place in reality and kept him in the small pocket beneath your heart, reshaping him into your own, personal Sirius, who could whisk you away from the cold reality you are forced to inhabit and fill the cracks in your ribs with romance, spontaneity and all the adventure you have read about in sonnets.

So taken you were by this idea of him, you had forgotten that the real Sirius, the one who laughs and trusts and is so carefree with his affection to the friends he considers worthy of his time, that Sirius couldn’t possibly be the person you had entertained in your fantasies of him. The real Sirius, the one who had plucked your  _best friend_  from a crowd of hopeful and willing girls, he hates you with a level of animosity that he hasn’t even tried to make sense of, which is confusing and grating and it  _aches_ , it really, truly does, it throbs and quivers and shatters with more ferocity than it ever did when you were transparent to him. 

You blink, lashes heavy with tears. They roll down your cheeks, leaving track marks in their wake as you spot Scorpio sprawled across the sky. 

“Where did you go?” 

You swallow back a gasp as you turn, startled out of your skin for the second time that night, finding Kaitlyn standing before you with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“I-I went for a walk…” you whisper, hastily wiping away your tears. 

“You were gone for over an hour and a half.” 

“I…went for a long walk.” 

“Mm-hmm, sure, and I’m really an elephant called Dumbo.” 

You sigh, biting down on your trembling lip. Kaitlyn tilts her head, examining you as though she were cataloguing the micro-movements of your face before she moves to your side and settles in the window seat. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

You stare at her, watching as silver moonlight glints off her nose ring and watching the way the corners of her lips pull back reassuring smile, giving you a glimpse of her straight, white teeth, and you’re so tempted to tell her the truth…what really happened…

“What are you two doing?” 

Kamilah is awake. 

She’s sitting up in her bed, the curtains to her four poster parted, her long hair falling gracefully over her shoulders as she stares at the two of you. You’re startled by the sound of her voice, given that you haven’t spoken to one another since earlier that day. 

Kaitlyn narrows a sharp glare onto Kamilah and rises from her seat. 

“Let’s go to bed, (Y/N)…” she murmurs, taking your hand and ignoring Kamilah as she leads you to your bed. She tucks you in and, with a small, encouraging smile, she closes the curtains to your four-poster, leaving you completely alone. 

You roll over onto your side as your fatigue washes over you, eyes heavy as you slip into a dreamless sleep. 

* * *

 

“I could  _throttle_  Kamilah Siad,” Kaitlyn seethes, scowling at her bowl of cereal the next morning in the Great Hall, “Wrap my hands around that stupid, giraffe neck of hers and just  _squeeze_ \- ” 

She pantomimes strangling Kamilah, squeezing down on an imaginary neck. 

“Should I be concerned?” You ask, pushing your food around your plate. 

“It’s not  _you_  who should be concerned,” Kaitlyn grumbles, glancing at Kamilah, “ _Kamilah_  should live out her days in constant fear.” 

Kaitlyn scoops a spoonful of cereal into her mouth and grinds her jaw, glowering at Kamilah. Kamilah’s laugh echoes across the table as she chats to her other friends, ignoring you completely. 

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m so surprised,” Kaitlyn snaps, coldly, “I mean, I saw her for what she was years ago but you wanted to be friends with her so-”

“-Can we not talk about Kamilah for one second?” You implore, softly, feeling a familiar prickle behind your eyes. 

Kaitlyn’s expression softens, “Sorry.” 

A long silence swells between the two of you as you both return to your breakfast. You stare at the food on your plate without really seeing anything, your appetite consumed by your growing anxiety. 

Why does it  _always_  feel like there are millions of tiny needles pricking the walls of your stomach? Every morning is the same; as soon as your eyes fly open, a menacing feeling of dread creeps into your lower belly and curls up like a sleeping serpent. It makes your scalp prickle and your hands shake and your chest tighten, ribs constricting, like your body is somehow trying to retreat into itself. 

It’s exhausting. 

The whoosh of beating wings pulls you back into yourself and you look up as a large barn owl drops a letter into your lap. You pick it up curiously, noting the familiar scrawl on the envelope and glancing over at Kaitlyn. 

“Oh!” Kaitlyn says as she catches a letter before it lands in her cereal, “That was close. It’s from mum…” 

You chortle as you peel open the envelope and pull out a folded piece of paper, unfolding it…

Your smile fades, eyes narrow, stomach curls. 

_**If you want answers, meet me in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom at midnight tonight, ALONE.** _

Your eyes follow the curls and curves of the scribbled instructions, the anonymous letter burning an imprint into your brain. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Kaitlyn is staring at you over the top of her glasses. 

You blink, mouth opens, closes shut. 

She leans across and snatches the letter out of your hand. She squints, scrutinising the letter, and frowns. 

“There’s nothing on here…” She murmurs, slowly. 

You pick up the piece of paper, realising that Kaitlyn is right. The parchment is completely blank.  

“I…” You trail off, speechless. 

“It’s some sort of prank,” Kaitlyn grumbled, pushing her glasses up her nose, “Whoever sent it has a perverted sense of humour, though, because there is absolutely nothing funny about this.” 

You bite your lip, and Kaitlyn arches an eyebrow. 

“Does it have anything to do with last nights little ‘walk?’” 

You consider her, prodding the back of your teeth with the tip of your tongue. 

“I don’t know…” 

Kaitlyn leans forward, resting her forearms in the table and staring right into your eyes, searching for something unknown to you. 

“Yes, you do…” she says in a stern undertone, “(Y/N), what happened last night?” 

You stare at her, beading excuses together in your mind. Subconsciously, your fingers find the pendant on your necklace and you roll it between your fingers. 

“I…” 

“Classes are beginning in five minutes time,” Professor McGonagall announces, “If you don’t want to spend your free time in Detention, I suggest you all make your way to your first classes. Now.” 

You and Kaitlyn exchange a glance, before Kaitlyn rolls her eyes and sighs, her heavy exhale trailing into a low grumble, “I guess we’re going to have to continue this conversation later.” 

Secretly, you hope you don’t have to. 

* * *

 

Kaitlyn and Kamilah have another fight after dinner and (fortunately) Kaitlyn forgets about your mysterious letter. 

You had left Kaitlyn alone in the Entrance Hall for a mere five minutes, and when you returned, Kaitlyn was gripping an empty glass hard enough to make it crack and Kamilah had pumpkin juice dripping down her face. 

Apparently, Kamilah had been insulting Kaitlyn in Urdu, not realising that Kaitlyn is fluent in several languages,  _including_ Urdu. In any other circumstance, it would have been almost comical, but considering it’s proud Kaitlyn and vain Kamilah, the dilemma verges on infuriating. 

Honestly, the whole situation could have been avoided if Kaitlyn had just swallowed her pride for once and Kamilah paid more attentive to her friends and their talents 

Kaitlyn is trembling with pure, unbridled rage by the time you escort her back to the Ravenclaw Common Room, and you have to physically steer her up the stairs and toward the girls dormitory in case she decides to attack Kamilah a second time. 

“She  _knew_ , (Y/N)!” Kaitlyn shrieks, pointing at the door as though Kamilah were lurking behind it, “She  _knew_  that I speak Urdu and she did it just to spite me!” 

“You know Kamilah,” you say, calmly, “She doesn’t pay attention unless she wants to. She either wasn’t interested or forgot.” 

A cold, indignant scoff grazes up Kaitlyn’s throat and bursts from her lips, “She’s pure evil, (Y/N). There is not a decent bone in her body…” 

“Maybe so but that’s not our problem anymore,” You snip, composedly, “Let Kamilah do whatever she wants. We’re not friends anymore anyway so it doesn’t matter…” 

You sink onto the side of your bed, shoulders slumping as you try to swallow a sob. Kamilah may have been vain and selfish but she had been your best friend for nearly six years. Someone who has been in your life for that long, who has supported you through both your lowest and highest points can’t be erased from your life without having some sort of emotional impact. 

In the end, she had seduced you the same way she seduces the world; polished charm and fake concern.

 _Not all of it was fake_ , a small voice whispers. There were times when Kamilah was fun and kind and witty and sensitive, so sensitive, especially when it concerned her troubled upbringing and her cruel parents…

“I can’t just sit by and watch!” Kaitlyn growls, seething, “I’m not like you! I can’t just roll over and pretend she didn’t hurt you!” 

Your eyes snap back up to Kaitlyn, “What are you saying?” 

Kaitlyn steels her spine, “You’re letting her get away with it, as usual. You’ve always let her get away with belittling you.” 

Your fingers grip the sheets on your bed and curl them into your palms, “I did that to keep the peace because I saw past her little remarks and I saw her potential while you-you never gave her a chance! And, yes, she may be dating Sirius and sure she had her flaws but she helped me, Kaitlyn! Both of you helped me when-when…” 

Buckling beneath the emotional strain the past few days have had on you, you finally allow the sob you’ve kept buried in your diaphragm to tear up your throat and burst from your lips. Tears stream down your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands, your entire frame wracking from the force of your sobs. 

You hear Kaitlyn stride toward you and sit beside you on the bed, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you close to her side. She rests her cheek on the crown of your head as you cry into her shoulder, breathing in her perfume and exhaling the heavy weight of your melancholy. 

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N),” Kaitlyn whispers into your hair, rubbing soothing patterns on your arms, “I really, truly am. I’m sorry for the fights Kamilah and I have had, I’m sorry you got dragged into this mess, I’m sorry about Sirius and I’m-I’m sorry about your parents…” 

You cleave to her, grabbing a fistful of her shirt and gripping it as though you were sinking into the depths of the earth, and Kaitlyn holds you, consoles you without having to use words. 

After what feels like years, you untangle yourself from her hold and she gives you an encouraging smile, wiping away your tears. 

“I know that Kamilah was your friend,” she begins, softly, “And I know she’s-she hasn’t had it easy with her parents but that doesn’t give her an excuse to be mean.” 

Kaitlyn takes your hand and gives it a small squeeze as she continues, gentle and patient in that way that she always is with you and you alone, “I don’t want to compare experiences but…when my dad went to muggle jail and my mum started drinking…I felt completely alone myself. I thought I was going to be alone forever. But then I got my Hogwarts letter and I met you and everything was okay. I had a place where I belonged and that place includes you, my only best friend.” 

You blink owlishly at her and Kaitlyn tucks a ribbon of hair behind your ear, “I owe so much to you, (Y/N). I really do. And I’m so sorry for what happened to you, what keeps happening to you…” 

Kaitlyn’s eyes are watery as you gaze into them, and the two of you dissolve, clinging to one another with an intensity that only true best friends could ever have. 

* * *

 

Your watch reads twenty to twelve by the time you slip out of the Common Room, unseen and unheard. 

If you keep doing this, not only will you wind up fatigued during the day but you’re definitely going to get caught. If not by prefects on patrols or ghosts haunting the hallways, by prowling teachers or worse…Peeves. 

You rush down the stairs and make your way to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. 

What if this really was a prank? Or a trap? You’d be willingly walking into it and opening yourself up to humiliation and hurt. But some part of you knows that’s wrong. You have a gut feeling that this all has something to do with the events of the previous night…

What if it was Regulus? Or Severus? What if they really had seen you and had waited to corner you so they could turn you in to Voldemort? You tighten your grip on your wand, nervously chewing the side of your cheek. Maybe this really was a mistake-?

You freeze, the hairs on the naps of your neck raising as a shudder creeps up the length of your spine. 

Is someone following you? 

You wheel around, scanning the hallway as you stretch your wand in front of you. The shadows retreat, peeling away from the beam of light that casts the empty hallway in sharp relief. 

“Is-is someone there?” You call out into the darkness. 

Silence. 

You wait a long moment, ears straining to listen. White noise hisses in your ears. 

You shrug off the feeling of paranoia digging into your scalp and continue down the hallway, briskly pacing toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. After several close calls, you finally arrive at Myrtle's bathroom and you push open the door, letting it click shut behind you. 

“I’m-I’m here,” you begin, hesitantly, “I don’t know what you want, but I’m armed and I know several painful hexes that I’m not afraid to use…” 

Amber light floods the bathroom as a dozen candles ignite at the same time, tiny tongues of fire dancing in mid-air. The candlelight washes away the darkness shrouding the cold bathroom, enabling you to make out your surroundings. 

Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom really, truly is the saddest bathroom you have ever seen. 

“No one is going to hurt you,” A warm, familiar voice says from behind. You turn, finding Remus standing behind you, eyes gentle and benevolent as they regard you. Relief and confusion fills you up like sunlight. 

“Remus,” you breathe, approaching him and wrapping your arms around his neck, “Merlin I was worried…” 

Remus’ arms linger around you, finger trailing down your spine, as though he doesn’t want to let you go. You break away from him and he smiles down at you. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, concern heavy in your voice, “I mean, why are we here so late at night?” 

Remus sighs, rubbing his forehead, “What you saw last night changes everything… which is why I need you to keep it a secret.” 

The deep shades of blue in Remus’ eyes draw you in, imploring you in a non-threatening sort of way as you stroke the pendant on your necklace. So you were right, in a way. This did have something to do with what you had witnessed last night. 

“Of course,” you whisper, drawing a gentle, reassuring smile across your lips as Remus’ expression settles on relief, “Besides, I’d have to explain why I was out of bed so late in the first place.” 

“Thank you,” Remus mumbles, appreciatively, “Thank you so much, (Y/N).” 

A grateful and relieved smile fills Remus’ lips, rearranging his scars in a way that almost makes them disappear. He has a way of disarming you with that smile, so gentle and benign, chasing away your concerns with a subtle twitch of his lips. Every smile he’s shown you has been genuine, and you suspect that’s the reason why it settles your nerves. 

“What was with that note?” You ask, breaking the silence and watching as Remus’ expression shifts into unease, “I mean - why couldn’t you have asked me yourself?” 

Remus winces, “I…didn’t actually write that note…” 

You frown at Remus, a distant feeling of unease tickling the bottom of your spine, “Well, then who did?” 

“I did,” One of the cubicles’ doors swings open, groaning lazily in protest as James Potter emerges from behind it, hands in his pockets and a ghost of a smirk teasing his lips. 

You stare at him for a moment, pulse leaping. He’s wearing black jeans and a grey, v-neck sweater over the top of his white button up, the first three buttons around his neck unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You’re beginning to see the reasoning behind the whole ‘James or Sirius’ debate common amongst many of the girls. 

“You?” You ask, voice barely a whisper. 

“We couldn’t risk anyone overhearing you and Remus,” James begins, stepping toward you, “And since it’d be odd if I was suddenly spotted talking to a sixth year I hardly know, I had to send you a letter with as little detail as possible…” 

You nod in understanding, “And you used vanishing ink?” 

“Nah, that’s too easy,” James grins, proudly, “A simple little vanishing charm of my own design is harder for nosy bastards to detect. It’ll only appear to the person I link the charm to and will last a few seconds so that there’s no trace of it left.” 

“That’s…you’re a genius…” 

“Oh, don’t tell him that,” Remus teases, wryly, “His ego is barely managing to contain itself within his fat head.” 

“Sticks and stones, Moony, (Y/N) and I know the truth,” James smirks, jokingly, “Alright, guys you can come out now.” 

At the sound of his permission, two more cubicle doors swing open, revealing Peter Pettigrew and… 

Your stomach tightens, contorting into a knot. 

Sirius Black emerges, looking impassive, unreadable, perhaps a little disgruntled. His eyes flick toward you for the briefest of moments, but it burns through you, heating your cheeks like sunburn. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” You ask Remus, feeling your face warm uncomfortably. 

Remus glances at James, as though silently asking permission. James scrutinises you, hazel eyes sweeping across your face. He finally shrugs. 

“Oh what the hell,” he finally says, “She already saw half of it anyway.” 

Remus nods and stares at you, his expression stern and serious, “We think You-Know-Who is recruiting young students and persuading them to become Death Eaters.” 

You blink, understanding dawning over you, “That’s what Severus Snape and…” you stop abruptly, catching the way Sirius bristles in your peripherals, “…that’s what Snape was talking about.” 

“Yes,” Remus concurs, “We’ve been watching them and reporting back to Dumbledore-“ 

“Dumbledore?” You ask, surprised, “He actually knows about this?” 

“He’d be a terrible headmaster if he didn’t,” Peter pipes up, “Besides, He’s Dumbledore and Dumbledore has a weird way of knowing anything and everything, sometimes before it even happens.” 

You agree silently, “But if he knows about it, why does he let it happen?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sirius snips, rhetorically, “There’s no way he can stop it. So he uses it to his advantage, tries to make good of a bad situation.” 

“And he’s waiting for the right opportunity to guide them,” Remus adds, “So he’s using the information he gets from us and slowly piecing it together.” 

“Right…” you mumble, absorbing this information in like a sponge, “So, You-Know-Who is trying to recruit students and you’re spying on said students to gather intel on You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters.” 

“Correct,” James says. 

“And Dumbledore is using this information to…do what, exactly?” 

“We’re not sure,” Remus says, glancing away, “But he’s been meeting with some of his friends in high places. We think he’s forming some sort of resistance.” 

“Shit,” you breathe, nervous energy sloshing around in the pit of your stomach, “This is…it’s really happening.” 

Silence lapses over the five of you as you all soak in the merciless gravity of the heavy reality. You’re on the brink of a war, one that began with the death of your parents. And though every instinct inside of you is screaming against it, you know that you have to help in some shape or form, if not for the wizards and witches living in fear than for your parents… 

“How can I help?” You ask, unfurling your spine. 

James begins to answer but is interrupted when the bathroom doors fly open and Kaitlyn comes storming in. 

“I’m helping, too,” she states, her voice firm and determined. 

Something flares in Sirius’ eyes, forking across his pupils like a flash of lightning. 

“The note said for you to come  _alone_ ,” he growls, rounding on you. There’s something deadly about his demeanour, like an angry dog snapping hungry jaws at you. 

You shudder at the thought…remembering those large fangs as they plunged into your skin, tearing through skin and muscle as you shrieked like a banshee…

“Shut up, Black! She did come alone,” Kaitlyn barks, coldly, “Besides, you don’t get a right to speak to me or (Y/N) after the shit you pulled with Kamilah!” 

Sirius glares furiously at Kaitlyn. She defiantly glares back, spine steeled and shoulders squared, resembling a seething snake ready to strike. 

“Oh, um, Hi Kaitlyn!" Peter squeaks, nervously. His round face is pink and his eyes shimmer around the edges, as though Kaitlyn was the moon, "You – ah – you followed (Y/N) here?" 

Kaitlyn rolls her eyes, “Of course I did! What kind of friend would I be if I let her waltz into trouble?” 

“This is perfect,” Sirius snarls, bitterly, “Why not invite the entire school in on our secret? In fact, we should just go straight up to You-Know-Who and tell him ourselves that we’ve been spying on him for months now!” 

Kaitlyn’s eyes flash dangerously as she works her jaw. She opens her mouth to bark at Sirius but James beats her to it. 

“How much did you hear?” He asks, seriously. Kaitlyn’s eyes whip toward him as she pushes her glasses up her nose. 

“Everything,” She says, lifting her chin, “I know all about your little…mission.” 

Remus pinches the bridge of his nose, “This was supposed to be between the five of us. Now with Kaitlyn…” 

James shrugs, “In all honesty, we could probably use an additional member…” 

“Prongs, I was being sarcastic when I said the whole school should know,” Sirius says, a sharp edge to his tone. 

“I know,” James says, scrutinising Kaitlyn with an arch of his brow, “But we need as many people as possible at the moment. This is war.” 

Kaitlyn’s lips quirk into a triumphant smirk, “So, you’re saying I can join in on your little…secret society?” 

Everyone looks at James, who continues to study Kaitlyn shrewdly, calculating, judging the risk. Shades of red bleed into the apples of Kaitlyn’s cheeks but she maintains his gaze fiercely, unblinking and determined. They stare at each other for a long moment, tension crackling like electricity sparking the air. 

“You any good at keeping a secret?” He finally asks, scratching his chin. Kaitlyn looks mildly offended. She folds her arms over her chest indignantly. 

“What secret?” 

James lips curl at their edges, pulling his mouth into a sharp smirk, both amused and impressed. 

“I guess that settles it,” James says, stepping toward you and Kaitlyn, eyes moving between the two of you. You and Kaitlyn glance at each other as your fingers reach up to fiddle with your necklace. 

“Welcome to The Order of the Phoenix.” 


	4. Come out and Play or Wild World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhh I’m getting through it!! Man this was tricky but I’m really happy with this chapter. I hope to get the next chapter out before Christmas but I can’t promise anything as I want to finish a chaos theory chapter before then too and then - yeah. But anyway, here you go ❤️
> 
> P.S. THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO ACTUALLY COMMENTS AND GIVES ME KUDOS YOU ARE BETTER THAN SEX ILY

As soon as you step into the empty room late Thursday night, you know you’re in too deep.

You and Kaitlyn stand side-by-side, scanning the room for any signs of movement. There’s no one around, the stillness cold and eery, like a breath of icy, graveyard air. Shadows creep across the walls and hang from the corners like demons, recoiling from the beam of light pouring from the tip of your wand.

Kaitlyn mutters a counterspell for the invisibility charm she cast on herself, and her form shimmers, revealing herself.

“Potter  _did_  tell us the correct password?” Kaitlyn asks, wrapping her cloak around herself a little tighter.

“Yes,” you murmur, scanning the shadows, “We have the right time and password, though I thought it was a bit odd that he said for us to ‘imagine’ the perfect hiding place.”

Kaitlyn throws her hands up in the air in frustration, “Well then where are they? We’re completely alone-”

“You’re not alone,” says a masculine voice that wrenches through the silence, and you clamp a hand across your mouth to swallow the gasp rising to your lips as Kaitlyn staggers backwards. 

James Potter emerges from out of thin air, his trademark smirk curving deviously. Your shock fades into embarrassment and slight irritation as you stare at him, gently tugging on the pendant of your necklace with trembling fingers. Kaitlyn, however, has been reduced to stunned silence as she gapes at him for a moment. Finally, she swallows, her cheeks an intriguing shade of red as she finds her voice.

“P-Potter,” she splutters, “How did-?”

“Invisibility cloak,” you and James both say in unison, and James winks at you.

“Y-you actually have an invisibility cloak?” Kaitlyn stammers, eyes wide with both shock and awe.

“Yeah. It’s a family heirloom,” James shrugs casually, “Alright, everyone, they’re alone. You can come on out now.”

It’s quite spectacular to watch, actually. Cracks climb up the walls as they shudder and peel, splitting them in half, regurgitating several figures that had been hiding inside of them.

James whips his wand from his pocket and mutters a counterspell, and suddenly, the strange iciness that had shrouded the room melts away, helping you to visibly relax in James’ presence. James senses your slight confusion and his smirk quirks.

“Handy little charm that repels intruders,” James explains, “If they’re not supposed to be here, they feel too spooked to enter…its kind of like that feeling  you have to walk down a dark corridor in the middle of the night.”

“You’re saying that you’re scared of the dark?” Kaitlyn snips, a teasing brow raised in defiance as she stares at James. She seems to have recovered her sass.

“Oh, he’s terrified,” says a warm voice, and you break into a smile as Remus Lupin steps forward, dusting concrete from his clothes.

“Hey Remus,” you smile, softly, your heart shuddering in your chest like petals caught in a spring breeze.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Remus smiles back at you, lips curving into an amicable smile as he regards you fondly in the moonlight.

Kaitlyn and James exchange a look, stifling a laugh. Kaitlyn leans into you, murmuring out the side of her mouth, “How is it that  _I’m_  the one with glasses but  _you’re_  the one who is blind to what’s right in front of her.”

Your brows knit together in mild confusion as you stare at Kaitlyn. Her smirk, all-knowing and slightly calculating, unsettles you for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint yet. You cut your gaze away from her, face warm, and turn to Remus.

Your eyes sweep across him, noting every detail of his face cast in cool shades of white and grey, his dark blue eyes almost grey in the moonlight.

“Oh, you have a bit of…” you trail off, stepping towards him and raising nimble fingers to his shoulder, gently flicking dust from his vest, though - secretly - both of you aware that it’s just an excuse to touch him.

“Thanks.”

You step away from him and glance at Kaitlyn. She’s watching you, a sharp brow raised teasingly, wearing that same, knowing smirk that rankles you as you flush beneath her teasing gaze.

Fortunately, you’re saved by Sirius Black, who strides into the room and draws Kaitlyn’s attention from you to him.

“Prongs,” he murmurs, “Wormy and I have secured the area. No one followed them,”

Sirius glances at you indifferently, his hands lazily shoved into his pocket. You blink at him, alarmed by the lack of your body’s response to him. Usually, you’d be reduced to stammering lips and a clumsy heart, but tonight, all you feel is unease.

Kaitlyn is livid.

“Why does he have to be here?” Kaitlyn snaps, addressing James as she jabs a finger in Sirius’ direction.

Sirius’ bark of a laugh punctures the air, mirthlessly, “Didn’t anyone tell you, sweetheart? I’m a Marauder just as much as James, Peter and Remus are…”

Kaitlyn steps toward him, fists clenched at her sides, “Call me ‘sweetheart’ again and I will tear you to shreds,”

“And I believe you,” Sirius drawls, lazily, as though he’s bored already.

“You’re an asshole.”

“And  _you’re_  a bitch.”

“Would you two stop it already?” James snips, glancing between the two of them, “In case you didn’t realise, we have bigger problems than your little pissing contest.”

“For once, I agree with you,” a sweet, melodious voice says from behind you, and you whirl around, spotting the most popular girl in school, Lily Evans. Her arms are folded across her chest, a teasing smirk pulling at the edges of her lips as she steps toward you.

James shoots a hand through his hair, “I guess today is the day for miracles.”

Lily rolls her eyes, though an amused smile plays tantalisingly on her lips, “Everyone’s out and ready, Potter, so when you’re ready…”

James nods importantly, suddenly serious in a way that seems uncharacteristic to the Marauder. He strides forward and flicks his wand, and golden light suddenly floods the room, washing the walls and spilling over the large, round table and chairs arranged, in a circle.

Kaitlyn’s eyes widen as she glances toward to corridor, and you sense her discomfort. Lily does, too, and she rests a comforting hand on Kaitlyn’s shoulder.

“Anyone looking in will see nothing but a blank wall,” Lily explains, softly, “This room is specially enchanted to our needs.”

“We call it the Room of Requirement,” Remus adds, leaning across to whisper in your ear.

“How did you find it?” You murmur, and Remus nods toward Sirius in response.

“Sirius found it. Don’t know how, though I have a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with the Greengrass twins and a couple of bottles of Fire whiskey.”

You cringe, turning back to Sirius. He looks so incredibly handsome, hair thick and expression firm, all razor-sharp edges that remind you of switchblades and motorbikes, half-empty bottles of whiskey and crumpled Marlborough packets littered across a bedroom floor. 

Sirius glances at you and you snap your gaze away, biting down on your lip.

For the first time since you’ve arrived, you take in your surroundings and notice that there are other people gathered together, too.

Lily’s four friends are here; Marlene Bishop, Mary McDonald, Emmeline Vance and Dorcas Medowes are seated at the circular table, all of them murmuring, deep in serious conversation with-

“Professor Dumbledore?” Kaitlyn mutters, glancing at you.

Dumbledore tears his eyes away from his conversation with Marlene and Mary and smiles at you, eyes twinkling with that strange magic that seems to usually hum around him.

“Ah, our newest members,” Dumbledore exclaims, cheerily, “Welcome. Please, take a seat.”

Dumbledore gestures to a couple of empty seats, inviting you to sit with him. You and Kaitlyn glance at each other, and she shrugs, walking ahead of you and dropping into a spot next to Emmeline Vance.

You meekly approach the table, Sirius and Remus following behind, before you take your seat between Kaitlyn and Remus. James paces toward the door and calls Peter inside, and Peter follows James into the room, taking a seat next to Sirius. James stands next to Dumbledore, and the Headmaster claps his hands together.

“Now that we have everyone here,” Dumbledore begins, eyes scanning the faces around the table, “We can commence our weekly meeting. James, would you like to start?”

James nods, “Right, well, this week, there was only one new recruit…” James throws a nervous glance at Sirius, “Regulus Black.”

Dumbledore nods forlornly, as though this news does not surprise him, “When did this happen?”

“Last night,” James answers, then sighs, “It sounded as though Snape was testing him.”

“Preparing him for the slaughter,” Sirius grumbles, darkly, glaring dangerously at the centre of the table. James continues, though not without a sidelong glance at Sirius.

“Snape also confirmed our suspicions about spies being in other classes. He knew a lot about Regulus’ Potion class, including his partner.”

“I see,” Professor Dumbledore muses, calmly, “And what would you classify Regulus as?”

James hesitates, “While I would normally say he’s a three, judging by what I saw last night, I’d say he’s somewhere between two and three.”

Your fingers find your moon-crescent pendant and fiddle with it, fingers following the curves and edges absentmindedly. What does he mean by ‘three’ and ‘trialled’? You glance around the room, finding only serious faces listening attentively to Dumbledore and James. They all seem to understand…everyone except you. Shame overwhelms you, burning in your cheeks.

If you muster up the courage and energy to ask, you’ll be interrupting the meeting and risk looking like a complete idiot. They’ll realise that recruiting you was a mistake and cast you out, reasoning that your ignorance isn’t worth them getting caught.

Deciding to stitch your lips together and swallow your words, you try to ignore your spiralling thoughts as your cruel imagination escapes with your fears, painting vivid scenarios where you eventually end up punished for your own confusion.

You’ll probably catch on along the way…

“We judge the new recruits on different classifications,” murmurs a soft voice, gently tickling in your ears. You nearly jump at the suddenness of it, and you glance over your shoulder to find Remus leaning in close to your ear. Sensing your unease, he places a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder.

“What are they?” You ask, your voice a barely a whisper.

“Someone who is a One is joining due to fear,” Remus explains, muttering in an undertone, “Meaning they’re only joining to keep themselves, their family and or their friends safe. It also means that they’re more pliable than the other two Classifications.

“A Two is judged on hesitation. If they show even a glimpse of hesitation, then they can be guided, though the difficulty varies depending on the person.

“The final classification is a three, and Threes are the most difficult to convince. They are usually joining because they are drawn to Voldemort’s power and they want it. Persuading them is the hardest, though I don’t believe it’s not impossible. Just because no one has been able to convince them otherwise thus far, doesn’t mean we still can’t.”

You nod, biting your lip as you process this new information.

“In saying that, Regulus is the first to be slotted between two classifications,” Remus murmurs, a touch of surprise lacing his words, “He must be pretty confused.”

A twinge of guilt and worry pricks your chest. If Regulus is truly struggling, if he’s buckling under the pressure of discovering his true identity and allegiance, you have no choice but to reach out and reassure him that he doesn’t have to do it alone.

Dumbledore’s heavy sigh draws your attention back to him and you watch as he runs a hand down his thick, long beard, “Has he officially been trialled?”

James shakes his head, “Not that we know of.”

“If I may,” Lily pipes up, raising her hand, “I overheard Snape and Regulus talking at our recent prefect meeting. I think Regulus will be trialled around Christmas.”

“Trialled?” You whisper to Remus and a pinch of anxiety flicks across his face.

“Each new recruit must be ‘trialled’ in order to become a Death Eater. It’s kind of like a pledge of loyalty to Voldemort and all that nonsense.”

“And what do they have to do?”

“It depends,” Remus begins, slowly, “But it always winds up with someone getting hurt. Mary McDonald knows all about it…”

You glance at Mary, who wears a fierce display of determination like a shield on her face. You had heard that she had been a victim of an attack by a gang of Slytherins, yet here she was, standing up for what she knew was right, not caving into fear and letting them win.

“Christmas,” Dumbledore echoes, thoughtfully, “That still gives us some time. If Regulus is unsure about what he’s getting into, he can still be convinced…”

Sirius barks a cold, indignant laugh that shatters the air around you. Everyone turns to him, staring as he leans back in his chair.

“You won’t be able to convince Regulus,” Sirius snips, harshly, “He’s a stubborn, cowardly git and a fool.”

“It takes one to know one,” Kaitlyn mutters angrily beneath her breath.

“He’s not a lost cause,” Marlene pipes up, hopefully, “No one is.”

“I concur,” Dumbledore says, blue eyes glittering behind his half-moon spectacles, “We cannot give up on those who need help and guidance…”

“I’m telling you now, he won’t listen,” Sirius snaps, temper simmering, “He’s too busy being a lap dog for Walburga and Orion to care about anything you say!”

“Which classifies him as a One,” Mary says, carefully, “Which also means that there’s still hope.”

“I sense great agitation in your aura, Sirius,” Emmeline suddenly chimes in, her voice misty and whimsical, “As well as fear, regret, guilt and-”

“–Don’t try that fortune-telling bullshit on me, Vance, I’m not a fool,” Sirius barks, glaring daggers at Emmeline.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” Dorcas snaps, placing a protective hand on Emmeline’s shoulder.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Meadowes, just because I don’t want to hear Vance’s scamming pitch.”

“Oh, because you’re so superior to us you’re immediately entitled to do whatever you want without consequence?” Dorcas shouts, springing from her seat. Sirius moves to leap from his seat too, glowering like an angry dog, but James rests a hand on his shoulder with an unspoken warning.

“You know that’s not true,” James chides, voice stern and rich with authority. Dorcas flushes, though her face is still hot with anger, “Superiority has nothing to do with the way Sirius acts.”

“Superiority has everything to do with it!” Dorcas nearly shrieks, her shrill voice bouncing off the walls.

“Calm down, Dorcas,” Marlene hisses through gritted teeth.

“No!” Dorcas barks, incensed and seething, “Sirius can’t just waltz around like he owns Hogwarts. He doesn’t. He’s just an arrogant bully!”

“How dare you?!” Peter growls, leaping to his feet. He’s significantly shorter than the tall and willowy form of Dorcas Meadowes, but his anger seems to overshadow him, casting the room into an uncomfortable heat, “Sirius and James are different, now, and if you had any sense at all you would know that!”

“Excuse me?” Dorcas snarls, her upper lip curling sharply, “Are  _you_  calling  _me_  senseless?”

“Senseless and, apparently, deaf,” Peter snaps back.

“The only person who is the senseless fool here is  _Potter_  for seeing anything worthy in you!”

This time, Remus and Sirius jump up, too, ready to loyally defend James’ integrity as their friend and leader of the group. James, however, remains calm and cool, though there is an intimidating iciness to his voice when he speaks.

“Doubting each other isn’t going to help,” James snips in a tone that makes both you and Dorcas flinch.

“Maybe so,” Mary chimes in, “But it does put things in perspective.”

“Are you forgetting that  _we_  were the ones to ask  _you_  to join The Order?” Peter snaps.

“No,” Mary says, folding her arms across her chest defensively, “But Dorcas raises an interesting point. How do we know that  _you_  aren’t playing for both teams here?”

“How dare you doubt James after everything he’s done for  _you_ ,” Sirius shouts, fingers clenching into trembling fists by his side. A flicker of guilt crosses Mary’s face, “Out of all of us, James is the most dedicated to this cause, and if you can’t see that, then you’re more of a fool than I originally thought!”

“Enough!” James yells, commanding silence, and everyone in the room obeys, sinking back into their seats. Peter stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest, his round face flushed red with anger as his lips twist into a frown. Dorcas sinks back into her seat, deliberately angling her chair away from Peter and Sirius. You and Remus glance uneasily at each other.

James sighs, raking a hand through his thick, black hair and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “Fighting amongst ourselves isnt going to help. In fact, it’s giving Voldemort what he wants.”

“James is right,” Lily adds, and James flashes an appreciative smile at her, “After all, a wise man once said that if a house is divided against itself, the house cannot stand.”

“Yeah? And who would say something so ridiculous?” Sirius drawls, sardonically and Lily glares at him.

“Jesus,” Lily spits, coldly, “Jesus said that, Sirius. And he was right. How can we expect to fight Voldemort when we’re fighting amongst ourselves?”

“A very good point indeed, Miss Evans,” Dumbledore smiles fondly at Lily and she flushes under his praise, “James, Lily  _and_  Jesus are all correct; we can’t let our differences become our weaknesses. Voldemort is expecting any force that raises up against him to fail. Let’s surprise him by staying unified as a team, and remember why we’re doing this. Apart from saving humanity against Voldemort’s schemes, we all have our own personal reasons, after all.”

“Now that we’ve had the opportunity to…erm…express ourselves, we can conclude this meeting with a course of action,” Dumbledore says, calmly, “Despite Mr Black’s input - which we are all grateful for, by the way - I believe we still have a chance to guide Regulus. And it just so happens that I have a plan.”

Subconsciously, everyone leans forward, waiting for Dumbledore to continue.

“Considering that Regulus is both hesitant and impressionable, our usual techniques are not going to be enough to convince him to join our cause,” Dumbledore starts, hands tented together thoughtfully, “I propose that we use subtle manipulation, and I believe the best person to do that is someone who is close to him. Someone who can talk to him freely without it looking suspicious.”

Dumbledore stares pointedly at you while everyone begins to pipe in with suggestions. It’s as though he’s communicating telepathically with you, encouraging you with a gentle glimmer in his eyes, though in a way that reassures you that he won’t be angry if you decline. Deep inside of you, however, you know that it’s the right thing to do and perhaps it’s the memory of your parents or the events of the past couple of days taking a toll on you, because without realising it, you are opening your mouth and stating loud and clear for everyone to hear-

“I’ll do it.”

Dumbledore smiles.

Eleven pairs of eyes turn their gazes to you, pinning you with intense stares. Warm flares beneath your cheeks, but you straighten and steel your spine. Everyone else falls silent, except for Remus and Kaitlyn.

“What?!” They both blurt in unison.

“You are very brave,” Dumbledore commends, warmly.

“(Y/N) shouldn’t have to do this!” Kaitlyn snaps, and Dumbledore turns to her.

“Why not?” Dumbledore asks, calmly, “She  _is_  Regulus’ Potion partner, yes? It wouldn’t be suspicious if (Y/N) and Regulus conversed both in class and out of it.”

“Yes,” Remus confirms, uneasily, “But-”

“-Moony, Professor Dumbledore has a point,” James intercepts, his expression thoughtful, “Snape used (Y/N) as a sort of…verbal test…to see if Regulus is ready for the trial. He said that she could be a distraction because Regulus may develop feelings for her. If that’s true, maybe she can convince him using her - erm - charms…”

“By ‘charms’ do you mean her whole ‘sweet and innocent, shy girl’ act?” Sirius asks sarcasm heavy in his words.

“Yeah,” James shrugs, “Besides, it’s not an act, is it (Y/N)?”

You chew your bottom lip as Remus races to your defence.

“James - Professor Dumbledore, if I may - this is all very new to (Y/N)…she doesn’t even have her tattoo yet and-“

“Wait, what tattoo?” Kaitlyn blurts, leaning forward, “Do you-do you all get tattoos?”

“Yeah,” Marlene grins wickedly, “Though it’s more practical than just fancy body scribbling.”

“Our tattoos are hidden on various parts of our body,” Remus explains, “They’re invisible to everyone but true members of the Order, and they light up whenever we need to congregate.”

“What do you mean ‘light up?’” Kaitlyn asks, warily, but before Remus can answer, Sirius jumps up from his seat and tears off his shirt, revealing a coloured Phoenix tattoo on the left side of his ribs. A sharp but tiny gasp escapes your lips at the sight of Sirius shirtless, toned muscles exposed in the low light.

“When we need to meet, the Phoenix ignites,” Sirius explains, pointing to the Phoenix that is currently preening itself, “Not only do you see it, you feel a tickling warmth. Nothing harmful. Actually…it’s kind of nice…”

“I…think we got the point,” Emmeline says in a soft and serene voice, her eyes dragging slowly and appreciatively over Sirius’ form. Dorcas nudges her and Emmeline rolls her eyes, “There is nothing shameful about appreciating the human body.”

Dorcas rolls her eyes and Remus continues, “It’s just an easier way to keep track of each other and to communicate without looking suspicious. Which is why we should think before we send (Y/N) off-”

“-I’ll do it,” you reiterate, this time more firmly, “I’ll…persuade him.”

Dumbledore smiles proudly, eyes glittering like sapphires behind his glasses. You glance around the room and spot Sirius studying you shrewdly, as though really noticing you for the first time. He looks equal parts surprised and impressed.

“Very well,” Dumbledore nods, still smiling.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

 

Twenty minutes pass, and you’re still asking yourself that very question.

What were you thinking when you agreed to this? You’re not a soldier in this war and you’re certainly not a spy. How were you going to do this? You can barely speak to your Professors, let alone other people. You chew your bottom lip until you taste blonde, anxiety swirling around at the bottom of your stomach like a whirlpool.

You’re shocked out of your reverie when chairs scrape across the ground and everyone begins to move around you, breaking off into their own conversations. You blink, coming back into the present as you automatically rise from your seat and push it in, fingers gripping the back of the chair a little tighter than necessary.

Glancing around, you look for Kaitlyn but realise she’s already gone.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” Remus asks, smiling warmly, “I can ask James for the cloak. I think he’s going to hang back with Dumbledore.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” you smile softly at Remus, “I’ll be fine.”

Remus rests a hand on your shoulder and gives it a small squeeze, “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Remus casts a disillusionment charm on himself and vanishes from your sight. You mimic him and head toward the door, now invisible to the naked eye.

Stepping into the corridor, you make your way toward your common room, gliding down the empty hallway unseen and unheard. When you reach the end, you start to round the corner but come to a sudden stop when you hear the angry murmur of a heated conversation.

Flattening yourself against the wall, you strain your ears to listen.

“-Kamilah know?” You hear Kaitlyn’s voice ask in a low, threatening snarl.

“Know what?” Comes Sirius’ husky retort, clearly feigning confusion.

“Please,” Kaitlyn scoffs, impatiently, “You’re ‘dumb jock’ facade is convincing, but not enough to fool me. You know exactly what I mean.”

“I don’t actually,” Sirius says, “You lost me at the ‘dumb jock’ part.”

“Stop fucking around, Black. Does Kamilah know about your super secret boy band meetings?”

You trap your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling nervously, taking a risk and peering around the corner hesitantly. Kaitlyn and Sirius are standing face-to-face in a standoff, a metre or so between them. Kaitlyn is tense and firm, composure steeled and shoulders squared as though she were going to bite. Despite her height (she’s the tallest out of you and Kamilah - a fact she is annoyingly proud of), Sirius still has to bend down, looming over her.

“You say ‘boy band’ like it’s a bad thing,” Sirius sneers, lips curling at the edges into a sharp, wolffish smirk.

Kaitlyn scowls, “Is everything a joke to you?”

“What’s wrong with seeing the bright side of life?”

“Everything, when innocent lives are involved…”

Now it’s Sirius’ turn to scoff; it forms at the back of his throat and bursts from his lips like he’s forced it out, “What? You mean Ashton? Because something about her tells me that she isn’t quite as innocent as she seems.”

In the low light, you can see the rage course through Kaitlyn, boiling beneath her skin like a deadly potion. She clenches her jaw and grounds out a warning, “Leave (Y/N) out of this or I swear to Merlin-“

“-Are you in love with Ashton?”

Kaitlyn pauses, caught off guard for a moment. She recovers quickly, though, and steps closer to him, now inches between them,

“You know what? Fuck you. You and Kamilah deserve each other, you’re both disgusting low lives who hurt the  _one_  person who actually loves you.”

You hear Kaitlyn begin to stomp away from Sirius briskly but she stops when she hears Sirius’ voice cut through the air.

“Kamilah doesn’t know, by the way.”

Kaitlyn’s heavy footsteps stop, but she doesn’t turn around to face him as Sirius continues,  “She doesn’t have to know everything…”

“Well,” Kaitlyn snips, “I thought since you two are apparently dating-“

“-What?” Sirius blurts in surprise.

“You and Kamilah  _are_  dating…right?”

A beat of silence passes between the two of them.

“Fuck,” Sirius curses through gritted teeth, “I told her that I didn’t want to get too involved…”

Kaitlyn’s sharp, mirthless laugh splinters the air, “Well, Kamilah has never been good at listening…”

Sirius’ hands are in his hair, and for a moment, you fantasise about how it would feel to tangle your hands in those infamous locks.

“You share a dorm, Yeah? Can you tell her-“

Kaitlyn snorts, “I’m not telling that backstabbing bitch anything! I’m not your owl. Tell her yourself, Black.”

With that, Kaitlyn wheels around and leaves. Sirius sighs, pulling out a flask from his robes and taking a long drag from it.

“I know you’re there, Ashton.”

You freeze, heart caught in a lump in your throat. Sirius pockets his flask, pulls out his wand and points it right at you, muttering  _Revelio_. You gasp as the disillusionment charm melts off you.

“I-um-I-”

Sirius waves a dismissive hand at you, “Whatever. Listen, you impressed me when you said you’d  - erm - spy on Regulus. I thought that you’d - I don’t know - I don’t know what I thought you’d do. But I never expected you to volunteer like that.”

You shrug meekly, and Sirius sighs. He takes another swig from his flask and you watch as though in a trance, alcohol glistening on his lips.

“Look,” He begins, awkwardly scratching at the nape of his neck, “I know I’ve been a jerk to you and - um - I’m - I’m fucking shit at apologies so…I’m a shitty person, I deserve to die and unfuck you I guess…”

You chew the side of your cheek thoughtfully and give a simple nod, “It’s-it doesn’t matter, I guess.”

Sirius licks his lips, “No, it does. I…shouldn’t have snapped at you that night and I…I’m sorry.”

Playing with your necklace, you take a moment to study Sirius in the moonlight. There is a soft, pink hue blooming beneath his cheeks from a mixture of the alcohol and embarrassment, and his hair falls gracefully around his face, framing his chiselled features. He looks uncomfortable.

“I’m not after an apology,” you mumble, softly, “I just…You and Kamilah hurt me and I…I know you didn’t do it deliberately but it still hurts, y’know. So I guess…I guess my view of you has changed.”

Sirius cocks a curious eyebrow at you and your cheeks burn in embarrassment, “I’m going to go now so…”

Sirius steps aside and gestures dramatically for you to pass. You start to leave but stop, hesitating.

“You’re not a shitty person, Sirius,” you say, slowly, deliberately, without even realising what you’re saying, “And you certainly don’t deserve to die.”

Sirius’ smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, almost like he has a million reasons why you’re wrong. 

* * *

 

You have a plan.

Well, sort of.

You have at least  _half_  of a plan, and that’s something…

The plan is to apologise, basically. To sit down with Regulus and say that you’re sorry and you want to be friends again. However, you have to do so in a way that doesn’t make him suspicious, and Regulus is naturally suspicious so this is where it becomes rather difficult.

So, you draft a script that hopefully sounds somewhat believable and you screw up every single ounce of your courage, trying to act naturally as you take your assigned seat next to Regulus the next morning in Potions.

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Slughorn begins in a cheery voice, “Let’s start the class with a quick quiz.”

A collective groan issues from the class as Professor Slughorn distributes the quiz sheets, hushing the class with a frown and an impatient tone. He actually beams at you and Regulus as he passes, winking at you as he gently places your quiz in front of you.

“You two will ace this,” Professor Slughorn grins confidently, “This will be a piece of cake to you two.”

Professor Slughorn returns to the front of the class and taps his wand on a large clock perched on his desk. The clock whizzes to life, as though awakening from a slumber, and starts counting down, commencing the quiz.

Grumbles and murmurs trail off into a reluctant silence as everyone begins their quiz, heads bowed and brows creased in concentration. You glance at Regulus, bouncing your knee nervously, recognising the opportunity to strike up a conversation.

“Do-do you know the answer to question eight?” You whisper, stammering over your words, even though you probably knew the answer better than him.

Regulus glimpses at the question, “Um…Flobberworm.”

_Wrong._

“Wait-no-Glowworm.”

_Correct._

“Thanks,” you whisper, pretending to scribble down the answer.

A beat of silence passes between the two of you, filled with the scratch of quills against parchment. You stare at Regulus as he continues to complete the quiz, and it dawns on you with how hard this actually is, the gravity of the situation nearly crushing you.

Regulus pauses mid-sentence, sensing your intense stare, and glances at you. You cut your gaze away hastily, deciding to take great interest in the clock that now read 3 mins 42 seconds.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, tasting blood as it oozes across your tongue.  _Whose bright idea was it to sign me up for this-?_

_Oh, that’s right._

You glance down at your quiz and decide to try and complete it, your quill dancing across the page. But you’re not even halfway through when the timer goes off and Professor Slughorn sweeps across the room, swiftly taking the quiz from each student.

When he reaches you, his smile fades into a frown as he stares down at your half completed quiz.

“Miss Ashton, you’ve only completed half of your quiz!” Professor Slughorn states in shock.

“Y-Yeah,” You splutter, feeling your cheeks glow as Regulus glances at you, “Sorry I’ve…been distracted.”

Professor Slughorn gives a disappointed hum and continues around the class, shaking his head. Regulus leans forward, frowning at you.

“(Y/N),” he hisses, “What’s going on with you?”

Your mouth flaps open wordlessly, nerves and anxiety bubbling up inside of you.

 _Stick to the plan_ , says a voice that sounds conspicuously like Kaitlyn.

You sigh in exasperation, “I’ll tell you after Slughorn’s lecture.”

As predicted, Professor Slughorn begins his lecture and rambles for three-quarters of an hour, pacing up and down the classroom in his usual fashion. When he’s finished and he’s written out instructions for the potion of the day, you reach out and grab Regulus’ arm, tugging gently.

Regulus stops abruptly, heat rushing to his face and seeping into his skin. He glances between you and his arm, as though trying to piece them together.

“I’m…worried about my grandma,” you murmur, tears pricking your eyes, “She’s getting on now and I hate the thought of her alone there at the Ashton mansion. It’s making me think of all the things in my life that I should be appreciating…”

You trail off, biting your lip, drawing Regulus’ eyes to your bottom lip as it’s caught between your teeth. It works; He stares at your lips for a lingering moment, cheeks burning furiously, and when he finally pries his eyes away, he notices the single tear rolling down your cheek.

“O-oh,” he stutters and swallows, “Well, I’m - ah- sorry about your grandma. She’s a lovely woman.”

“She is,” you agree, a flicker of warmth swelling in your chest at the thought of her, “But she’d want me to settle- this-whatever it is between us. Regulus I’m…I’m sorry.”

Regulus’ brows nearly graze his hairline in surprise as he blinks at you, stunned.

“You’re sorry?”

You resist the urge to slap him around the head for making you repeat yourself, instead biting down on the inside of your cheek, “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Regulus drops back onto his stool, frowning as he processes the new information. He seems to be mentally deliberating, addressing and dismissing his doubts. Finally, he turns back to you, eyes sharpening into a glare.

“Why now?” He snips, coldly, “The last time we spoke, it ended in an argument. What’s changed since then?”

You sit down beside him, covering his hand with your own, “Well, our argument got through to me. It got me thinking about…everything…because what you said was right. I did leave because of Sirius (Regulus bristles at the sound of his brother’s name) and look where that got me? My best friend betrayed me to date him behind my back for four months and didn’t even bother to tell me. You were right…it was a waste of time.”

Regulus stares at where your hands are connected, the corners of his lips dropping into a frown.

“You’re telling me that after all this time, you’re ready to be friends again because of your grandma and Kamilah Siad?” He asks in a cool, composed tone. You nod.

Another silence lapses between you. Regulus continues to stare, tangled in a web inside his skull that you know all too well, before finally pulls his hand away.

“I don’t believe you,” he mutters, bitterly, “I don’t know what’s really going on with you, but I’m not going to be in the centre of it.”

You reach out, trailing a finger down his arm, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“I know you don’t believe me,” you murmur, tears welling in your eyes, “But I know I’m telling the truth. Just…consider it, okay?”

Regulus pulls his arm away from your touch and tears his gaze away, glaring intensely at the cauldron.

“Don’t hold your breath,” he mutters, before striding away, heading toward to Ingredient cabinet.

As you watch him leave, a trembling sigh escapes your lips. And despite the guilt wave of guilt curling over your stomach, despite the taste of salty tear on your tongue that settles there like a reminder of your lie, and the whirlwind of anxiety spinning your head into vertigo, you can’t help the overwhelming relief that washes over you because-

Because…

The seeds of your little plan have been planted. And if Regulus is still the same boy you knew all those years ago, he’ll come back. 

He  _always_  comes back. 


	5. Silence or Turn to Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...oof. Just...oof. It hurt a lot to write the ending, but it has to happen this way. Anyway, I hope everyone had happy holidays and sorry for ruining them :/ Also THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO COMMENTS AND GIVES KUDOS! all of your responses have GIVEN ME LIFE i love you all sooooo much!

On the last day of term, Regulus Black finally makes a decision.

It may have taken over a month of awkward glances and a handful of uncomfortably quiet Potions lessons, but these things take time and you’ve always been a patient person. You also remember what Regulus is like; how he tends to pull things apart and scrutinize every tiny detail before carefully stitching them back together. He’s always been a deep thinker, cautious in his approach to life, a contrast to his brother who you don’t think has ever hesitated for a single moment before diving into the thick of things.

Still, it’s a breath of warm relief when you see him sidling over to you from across the Library, looking sheepish, uncomfortable and embarrassed all at the same time.

“Regulus,” you smile, eyes lighting up as he approaches.

“I thought you would have left with everyone else for Christmas?” He asks, surprised.

You close your book, rubbing your fingers across the smooth cover absentmindedly, “My grandma said that my aunt is staying with her for Christmas,” you explain, spinning your carefully planned excuse, “She wanted me to ‘stay with my friends and have a good time for a change.’”

Regulus nods in understanding. You tilt your head, examining him, “I thought you wanted to go home to your parents this year?”

Regulus swallows, his tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip nervously, “Uh - Yeah, they wanted me to stay too…” He shrugs, clearly uncomfortable with the subject “Listen, I’ve been thinking about what you said and ...Um...And I...I believe you, now.”

You nod, brows raised expectantly as Regulus swallows and continues.

“I mean, I thought it was suspicious that you wouldn’t talk to me for years and then suddenly you decide you want to be friends again. But then I did hear about Kamilah and Sirius and I thought that...maybe...what you were saying was the truth.”

Your lips pull into a smile on impulse, without requiring much effort on your part, “You know, not everyone has ulterior motives, Regulus...”

 _Hypocrite_ , your conscience hisses.

Regulus sighs and nods, “Yeah, I know. I guess old habits die hard.”

Regulus slides his hands into his pockets, staring at his feet. There’s a moment of awkward silence between the two of you, where you shift uncomfortably in your seat and close the book in your hands. Finally, you break the silence with a flash of a smile.

“So, we’re friends again?”

Regulus rakes a hand through his thick, black hair, “Yeah. We can - erm - we can be friends again.”

Your smile broadens uncontrollably, watching as Regulus relaxed at the sight of it. He even manages a smile of his own; a quick flicker across his lips that lights up his entire face. 

You gesture toward the empty spot beside you, inviting him to sit. He accepts, smiling loosely, and you ignore the sharp, needle-point pricks of guilt that nip the edges of your chest, knowing deep down that this is all to help Regulus, not hurt him. And yes, you may detest his view on muggleborns, but perhaps your friendship could change that.

Maybe  _you_  could change that.

“What are you reading? Regulus asks, peering over at the book in your arms.

“Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland,” you reply, and Regulus raises an inquisitive eyebrow, “It’s a classic muggle book about a girl who falls into a rabbit hole and enters a crazy and strange new world.”

“Huh,” Regulus examines the book cover thoughtfully.

“My father used to read it to me all the time,” you say, reminiscing, “Every night before we went to bed, we read about Alice’s exciting journey down the rabbit hole. He was just as in love with it as I was. I think he was a lot like Lewis Carrol.”

You trail off into a brief silence, smiling as you remember the way your father used to act out each character. His impressions always had you and your mother in hysterics, especially his depiction of the Mad Hatter.

Regulus stares at the book curiously, then tears his eyes away, like he’s glimpsing st something he shouldn’t be. You glance between Regulus and the book, deciding whether to part with your beloved treasure of a book temporarily. Ultimately, you concede, and hold the book out to him.

“Take it,” you offer, smiling, “I’ve read it a million times.”

Regulus hesitates, uncertain, glancing between you and the book. Your smile broadens encouragingly. Finally, he takes it.

“Thanks,” he smiles, taking the book and running his hand across the cover, “I think I’ll enjoy this.”

“I  _know_  you’ll enjoy it,” you correct, smiling knowingly at him, “Sometimes, I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole myself, you know?”

Regulus stares at the book absently, as though he isn’t really reading anything.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, gloomily, “Yeah, I do.”

Silence swells between the two of you, contemplative and as grim as the greyish purple clouds bruising the sky, in which the pressure Regulus is under almost feels sentient like you could reach out and touch it. You’re tempted to cover his hand with your own as a sign of comfort, but you don’t want to let too much on. If he suspects you know something about his ‘trial’ then he’ll lose trust in you.

When Regulus speaks again, it almost feels unnatural, arbitrary given how intense the silence between you had been, but he shatters it with a meek invitation.

“I know it’s last minute but...We should go to Hogsmeade together this weekend,” Regulus blurts, before quickly adding, “As friends. To celebrate...if you’re not going with anyone else...”

You consider him, smiling, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The few rays of sunlight poking through the cluster of grey clouds in the sky are streaming through the tall windows of the library and are catching on Regulus’ lashes, glinting off the flecks of blue in his grey eyes. The similarities he shares with Sirius are evident, though there are deliberate mistakes. Where Sirius is more chiselled and sharp, Regulus is more muted. Sirius is more handsome, Regulus is more aristocratic, handsome in his own way.

But right now, Regulus looks remarkably different with sunlight in his hair and glittering in his eyes.

Regulus mistakes your measured consideration as hesitance, and he winces.

“We don’t have to!” He says, quickly, “It was a terrible suggestion, why would you want to go with me-?”

“-I think it’s a wonderful idea, Regulus,” you state, smiling gently at him as you cover his hand with yours, “We can go for butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks.”

Regulus flashes a dashing smile; it has the most peculiar effect on your heart.

“Okay,” he murmurs, tucking a lip between his teeth.

You smile at him, marvelling at how easy this is becoming, how easy the smiles are and the blushes and the furtive glances.

It’s almost as though it’s meant to be.

* * *

 

 

Later that night, you’re sitting with the Marauders plus Lily in the Room of Requirement when you tell them the news.

“Regulus and I are friends again,” you murmur, guiltily, averting your gaze from Lily’s bright green eyes and staring at your feet, “He approached me earlier today in the Library.”

James beams at you, clapping an encouraging hand on your shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Excellent!” He commends, cheerily, “Well done!”

As if sensing your discomfort, Lily ducks her gaze to catch your eyes, offering you a kind and gentle smile, “You did well,” she says, softly, “I know it’s not easy, but it’s for the greater good.”

You clamp your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling nervously. You nod timidly, knowing that, ultimately, she’s right.

Beside you, Remus takes your hand and gives it a tiny squeeze, as though transferring some of his strength to you. He turns to you and flashes a small smile, and there’s something so reassuring about the way it pulls the edges of his lips, like sunlight bending in water. It’s radiant in ways you can’t describe, but soft enough to put you at ease.

“We’re going to go to Hogsmeade together,” you add, “On the weekend.”

Remus’ smile falters at its edges.

“That’s great!” Peter grins, “The more one-on-one time, the better.”

“I should come with you,” Remus insists, firmly, “Um...I mean, Kaitlyn and I should come and make sure you’re okay.”

Lily agrees with a nod, “It would be good if someone came with you, just to make sure you’re okay.”

“But how will he open up to me when other people are around?” You ask, briskly, “I know Regulus, and he’s not going to hurt me right in the middle of Hogsmeade!”

James considers you, brows furrowed in thought, “You’re right. The more people come with you, the less inclined Regulus will feel to open up.”

“James,” Remus snips, tersely, “Regulus is a recruit. If (Y/N) goes by herself, she could be am–”

“-I’m not completely defenceless, Remus,” You snap, a little harsher than intended, “I know how to use a wand.”

Remus glances away for a moment, abashed, “I know, and I’m not doubting your skills as a witch-”

“-Sounds like you are to me,” you intercept, curtly. Remus continues with a sigh.

“I just...” Remus lowers his voice to a soft murmur, “I want you to be safe.”

You force a smile that you hope looks reassuring onto your face, “I’ll be fine, Remus. Please trust me to take care of myself.”

Remus sighs, the exhale heavy on his lips as he rubs his forehead anxiously, “Okay, fine.”

“She’ll be fine, Remus,” James says, giving Remus a knowing look, before turning to you and winking, “We have complete faith in you.”

James’ confidence and million-dollar grin settle the rest of your writhing nerves, and you can’t help the tiny smile that flickers across your lips.

“A word of advice,” Sirius chimes in from where he leans against the wall, partially draped in shadows, “Don’t try to be too pushy with my brother. He’s sensitive, he’s cautious and he’ll be able to tell that you know more than you should.”

“Well that shouldn’t be too hard,” James says, “(Y/N) is a very patient and gentle person.”

“And keep your guard up,” Sirius warns, seriously, “Don’t get too complacent. He’s been brainwashed by his parents, so it’ll take a lot of subtle convincing.”

Remus rolls his eyes, sardonically, “Would you like to take (Y/N)’s place then, Sirius?”

Sirius scowls, “Of course not you prat. I just want to make sure.... look, never mind. (Y/N), Just ignore the furry oaf over there, it’s nearly his time of the month and he gets moody.”

Remus opens his mouth to argue but Lily intercepts, briskly.

“I guess that concludes our meeting for tonight,” She says, clapping her hands together, “James, Remus and I can go and tell Professor Dumbledore the latest. Sirius, do you want to take (Y/N) back to her common room?”

You freeze.

No,  **no** ,  _no_ , no,  ** _no_**

Your heart skips, slips, and tumbles in your chest. You bite down hard on your tongue, tasting warm iron as it spills across your taste buds, but you don’t care, not really because all you can think about is that familiar, greasy wave of nausea pooling obnoxiously at the pit of your stomach.

“Um-” you squeak, ready to blurt out everything including your own anxiety because _no he does not want to ‘take me back to my Common room’, no he certainly does not-_

“-Sure,” Sirius shrugs, smirking lazily, “If (Y/N) will have me...?”

No.

_No._

**_No._ **

“O-okay.”

“Great,” Lily smiles, glancing between the two of you. Remus looks uneasy.

“Does Sirius - I mean - do I have to come?” Remus asks, meekly, cheeks pink and eyes darting away. James snickers but falls silent when Lily shoots him a look.

“Of course you do,” Lily says, firmly, “You have to report back to Professor Dumbledore about Mulciber and Avery.”

“Besides,” James adds, “There’s that  _thing_  that we have to discuss.”

Remus frowns and glances at Sirius, who shrugs again.

“Prongs already told me.”

You shift awkwardly in your seat. Everyone in the room knows about this unspoken subject except you, which could only mean it's  _about_  you.

Remus glances between you and Sirius warily, his hand squeezing yours a little harder, almost possessively, “What about Peter?”

“Going with them, obviously,” Peter says, jabbing a thumb at James and Lily. Remus nods, but he still looks unsure.

“My God, Moony, anyone would think that I’d have to escort the queen to her palace. What’s the big fuss?” Sirius retorts, a wicked, almost knowing smirk on his lips. He earns a few appreciative sniggers from James and a laugh from Peter.

Remus sighs, exasperated, and rolls his eyes, relenting, “Okay, fine,” he snaps, tersely, “Fine, take her Padfoot.”

He flaps a hand at Sirius, who pushes himself off the wall and saunters toward you.

“Take the cloak,” James instructs, handing him what you assume is the Invisibility Cloak, “If we get stopped, we can just tell them honestly that Professor Dumbledore is expecting us.”

“Okay,” Sirius shrugs, then smirks devilishly at you, “Get over her, (Y/N).”

You move to climb out of your seat but Peter suddenly springs to his feet and leans in close to you.

“Um, before you go...” Peter blurts in a low whisper, “Is...is Kaitlyn...er...dating anyone? Or is she - um - is she going to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

You watch as Peter blushes an unflattering shade of scarlet and you tuck strands of loose hair behind your ear, embarrassed for Peter, “Um...I don’t know...sorry Peter.”

Actually, that’s not entirely true. You do know, but you don’t have the heart to tell Peter that he is definitely  _not_  her type.

Disappointment flickers across Peters' face as his blush deepens, shade darkening and soaking from his cheeks, down his neck and across his chest.

“Oh,” he murmurs, trying to sound nonchalant, “That’s Okay. Thanks anyway...”

You try to give him a reassuring smile before you leave him, approaching Sirius slowly. You wear a blush of your own; you can feel the heat as it burns up the curve of your neck and creeps uncomfortably in your cheeks. Sirius wraps an arm around your waist and reigns you into his side, holding you close.

“Ready?” He asks

 _Not really_ , you think, but you nod timidly.

Sirius drapes the cloak over your shoulders and you begin to walk out of the door and toward the Ravenclaw common room.

You and Sirius marinate in an uncomfortable silence, each second that passes feeling more and more awkward. You try to think of things to say but every futile attempt to attempt a conversation is met with a barrage of self doubt and anxiety.

What do you even talk about with boys anyway? You think about your friendships with Regulus and Remus, the only two boys you talk to without much effort, but realise that they have always initiated the conversation. If it were up to you, you probably wouldn’t even be friends with them if they hadn’t originally spoken up. Sometimes, it even feels awkward talking to them, especially when the conversation dies down and you feel like you have to say more. Its unnerving for reasons you can’t quite comprehend, but are forced to understand anyway.

“So how did you and Regulus meet anyway?” Sirius suddenly asks, curiously.

You swallow your nerves and speak honestly.

“Um on the train to - uh - to Hogwarts in our first year.”

“Oh...?”

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes, stretches, lingers.

“And how long were you friends for?”

“About two years.”

“Okay.”

More silence. Your brain scrambles for something to say but the more seconds pass, the more awkward it becomes. Sirius doesn’t seem to find it awkward, though. In fact, he’s keeping the conversation going.

“What happened between the two of you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

You  _do_  mind him asking, actually. Not because you don’t trust Sirius but because talking about the past unstitches an old wound you’ve tried desperately to ignore. Still, Regulus  _is_ Sirius’ brother, who is in serious trouble, so maybe telling him will help somehow. 

“I noticed he started drifting to the Dark Arts and realised his intentions, so I-I ended our friendship.”

Saying it like that makes it sound so simple, but there were so many emotions involved in leaving your best friend behind. Watching someone drift to life you know they don’t belong in feels like you’re abandoning them or helping hammer a nail into their own coffins. But Regulus wouldn’t listen. His parents had reached into his brain and tangled all his thoughts, snipped them and turned them into strings so they could puppeteer their own son.

You guess that’s why Sirius - someone who’s far too stubborn and wild to be tamed - left when he could.

Sirius nods knowingly, “That can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” you answer, honestly, gulping down the lump in the back of your throat.

Silence. Unbearable, uncomfortable silence drowns the two of you in waves of discomfort. It loiters like a menacing shadow until you reach the common room and Sirius pulls off the cloak, grinning at you.

“This looks vaguely familiar,” he smirks, referring to the last time he had left you outside the Ravenclaw common room.

“I suppose,” you shrug, a small smile flickering across your lips. Sirius snorts.

“You don’t talk much, do you, Ashton?”

You shrug, biting down on your bottom lip and playing with a loose ribbon of hair. Sirius’ eyes glimmer in the low light.

“Hey, um…how’s…how’s Kamilah,” Sirius asks, suddenly looking sheepish.

Your stomach sinks.

“She’s…” you trail off, bite your lip, “Honestly? I don’t know. I don’t talk to her much anymore and I try to avoid her. In saying that, she kind of looked sad this morning before she left. Why? Aren’t you guys–?”

Before you can say the apparently offensive word, Sirius grimaces and interrupts you hastily.

“–We’re not involved anymore,” he blurts, quickly, “Things got complicated way too quickly and we…yeah you don’t need to know the details.”

You frown at Sirius, and to your surprise, something dark and malicious curls inside of you, like a serpent unfurling itself deep inside places you never knew existed.

“Maybe you shouldn’t use women as objects for your own entertainment, then,” you spit before you even realize what you’re saying, “I mean, I’m not friends with Kamilah anymore but she was clearly in love with you. How could you lead her on like that and then just end it…?”

Sirius raises an eyebrow, both surprised and impressed.

“I’m impressed,” he says, a hint of a smirk flirting around his lips, “and here I thought you were the quiet one. I guess you only talk when it’s important.”

You flush, your face hot and itchy.

“I’m just saying, Kamilah had feelings for you…”

“And I made it clear right from the beginning that I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” Sirius explains, “She agreed to it. In fact, she was the one who suggested we keep it on the down low so no one got confused. It was a mutual agreement to keep things fun but not get too attached.”

You nod, prodding the back of your teeth with your tongue thoughtfully. So Kamilah actually agreed to this, even though she was practically guaranteed to have her heart broken. How could she be so reckless with her heart? Logically, it doesn’t make sense, though Kamilah isn’t one to be logical when it comes to matters of the heart. Otherwise, she would probably never have agreed to such terms if it meant alienating her two best friends.  

“You know what you remind me of?” Sirius suddenly asks, and you nearly jump. You had been so tangled in your own thoughts, you had forgotten that Sirius was there, “You remind me of one of those Russian nesting dolls. You know the ones that you open up and there’s a smaller one inside and so on? Yeah, you remind me of one of those.”

You pin him with a questioning look, “Why - I mean - yeah, that’s what I mean - Why?”

“Because you have so many layers,” Sirius says, intrigued, “I mean, on the surface you’re the shy, good girl who probably spends most of her time trying to flatten out every kink in your skirt. But something about you tells me that theres so much more than that. For example, what you just said to me before, which was right in every way, but I digress. I’m curious about the type of person you are at your core.”

You blink at him, heat rushing to pool beneath your cheeks, “Um...”

“Anyway, Goodnight Doll,” he says, smirking, before wrapping the cloak around himself and folding into the night.

You blink at where he once stood, once again reduced to complete, baffled silence. Doll? Was that going to be his new nickname for you? You sigh and enter the Ravenclaw common room, both tired and confused.

* * *

 

 

“I can’t do this!” you whine, rubbing your forehead anxiously as you sit crossed-leg on your bed in the girls' dormitory. Kaitlyn sits beside you, rubbing soothing circles on your back as though trying to massage your worries away.

You release a sigh, fiddling nervously with your necklace, “I’m a terrible liar, Kaitlyn! And Regulus...he’s so smart! He’s a gifted liar! He knows what to look for...”

“Don’t think too much about it, (Y/N),” Kaitlyn advises, gently, “If you think about it, it becomes obvious. Part of the reason why he’s so good is because he’s a natural liar.”

You tear your fingers through your hair and tug on the roots, “But I  _can’t_  lie! It’s like there’s something wrong with me I’m just... _shocking_  at it...”

“Well, you’ve managed to convince him thus far that you want to be friends, and you’ve been able to do so without revealing anything, so I’d say you’re doing pretty good.”

As she says it, Kaitlyn waves her wand around in the air and the projector screen sitting on the floor flies up and straightens against the wall.

“Listen, (Y/N),” Kaitlyn starts, seriously, “You have to do this, whether you like it r not, this is about Regulus’ life. All you have to do tomorrow morning is be is yourself, that’s the person Regulus befriended.”

You dig your teeth into your bottom lip and nod, fingers still restlessly threading the moon crescent pendant through your fingers. Kaitlyn’s right. She’s always right.

“Okay,” you breathe, “You’re right. I have to do this.”

Kaitlyn slaps a hand on your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. She flashes you a comforting smile, setting your spiralling nerves at ease in that way that only Kaitlyn can. It’s strange yet beautiful how some friendships can transcend those borders and enter a stage where you’re closer than sisters.

Kaitlyn releases your knee and ambles toward the giant bean bags, collapsing into one. She looks like she’s sinking into a giant marshmallow, three times her size, yet it molds to her body and gives the impression that she’s being hugged by a cloud.

She looks over you and winks, smirking broadly. “Now get your ass over here and watch a movie with me!”

You grin at her, all your worries disappearing out the window and make your way over to where the bean bags are gathered around the large projector screen, dropping into a bean bag. The bean bag embraces you with phantom arms that promise comfort and relaxation and you sigh like you’re sinking into a hot bath.

It’s a lot larger than Kaitlyn’s – you suspect Kaitlyn had got a double bean bag instead of a single for some unknown reason since you’re significantly smaller than Kaitlyn – but you don’t argue or complain. In fact, it’s rather luxurious, though you’re not sure how you’re going to get out.

Since it’s just yourself and Kaitlyn in the girls' dorm, you had spoken to the Muggle Studies Professor about borrowing the projector to watch Christmas films, to which she had graciously agreed. With a few muggle movies and a lifetime supply of treats from the kitchen, you and Kaitlyn settle into the insanely large and irresistibly comfortable bean bags, ready to watch your first film.

A knock at the door temporarily hinders those plans.

“I’ll get it!” Kaitlyn exclaims, excitedly. You laugh hysterically as she struggles to pull herself out of the beanbag, her arms and legs flailing wildly in the air. You’re about to ask if she needs help when she finally heaves herself out of the bean bag, panting.

Grinning goofily, she springs to her feet and dashes toward the door, tearing it open excitedly. She and the visitor have a mumbled conversation that you can’t quite hear, and you’re just about to somehow peel yourself out of the bean bag and see what’s going on when Kaitlyn steps away and–

And–

Remus Lupin steps into the room, smiling broadly.

You hadn’t seen him since the meeting you had with the Marauders earlier that week, and to be honest, he looks terrible. Pale and exhausted looking, Remus looks as though he needs a giant hug, a huge mug of hot chocolate with dozens of marshmallows (just the way he likes it) and a twelve-year nap. But his smile, wide and radiant, chases away the weariness so evident on his face, almost like sunlight breaking through stormy clouds, and you can’t help but smile back at him.  

“Remus!” You chime in surprise, struggling to get out of your bean bag, “I – argh – haven’t seen you for so – ugh – so long.”

“Not so funny now, is it?” Kaitlyn smirks.

You roll your eyes and double your efforts to climb out of the beanbag but it’s like struggling against a rip; the bean bag seems to swallow you. Remus smiles amusedly and holds up a hand.

“Don’t worry about getting up,” he chortles, “That bean bag looks like it’s about to devour you in one bite.”

You sigh, surrendering to the bean bag, “Yeah, Kaitlyn picked it. Anyway, how did you get up here? I mean, Rowena Ravenclaw cast protective charms on the girls dorm to stop boys climbing up them?”

A daring grin pulls Remus’ lips, and for a moment, he resembles James Potter.

“Well, all charms have a counter-charm,” Remus replies simply, almost devilishly, “It’s just figuring out which one works.”

You bite your lip, shaking your head in awe, “You should have been a Ravenclaw.”

The apples of Remus’ cheeks stain a light shade of pink, “Yeah, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me here but I think James would have dragged me back to Gryffindor tower the first chance he got.”

“I believe you,” Kaitlyn smirks, arms folded across her chest, before unfolding them and clapping her hands together, “So, Remus, let's get down to business. There are cakes and sweets over here, a few bottles of butterbeer over. Help yourself!”

While Remus strolls toward the sweets table, you take the opportunity to question Kaitlyn.

“You invited Remus?” you whisper and Kaitlyn grins, “You didn’t think to ask me, first?”

Kaitlyn’s brows crease in mild confusion, “Remus is your friend, too. Why is it a problem?” a knowing smirk suddenly fills across her lips, “Unless you  _fancy_ him?”

Your stomach tightens into a thick knot.

“I do not fancy Remus!” you snip, angrily, “He’s just a friend–”

“Where am I sitting?”

You turn to Remus and realise that there is no extra bean bag and with you having the biggest of the two–

“You could sit with (Y/N)?” Kaitlyn suggests, grinning wickedly, “It’s big enough for the two of you.”

You shoot Kaitlyn a nasty look, catching onto Kaitlyn’s devious schemes. She had deliberately set this up, positioned every pawn carefully on her chess board.

Remus doesn’t seem to notice this, though, and he flops down beside you, sighing as he settles in the bean bag. His knee brushes against yours, the warmth of his body seeping through your clothes, and you bite your tongue on a gasp.

Your heart flutters stupidly when your arm brushes against his, your face warm with an embarrassing blush.  

“So, what are we watching?” he asks, glancing at you, but you quickly turn away before he can notice your flushed cheeks.

“We were thinking A Christmas Carol and then A Miracle on 34th Street,” Kaitlyn answers as Remus takes a swig of his butterbeer.

“Ah, classics,” he grins, lips glossed with butterbeer.

Kaitlyn flicks her wand and the projector whirs to life, the lights dimming, throwing the room into a warm ambience.

A Christmas Carol begins to play, the characters caught in a world of black and white as though trapped inside a snow globe, but as the film follows Ebenezer Scrooge’s adventures, you can’t seem to focus on any of it.

Remus is a furnace of warmth and comfort as he sits beside you, as though he had bottled up autumn and used it as an expensive cologne. Sitting so close to him feels different in this setting, and you’re not entirely sure how or why. You had always sat close to him during free periods, where you’d spend hours studying together. Why should it feel any different? Why can’t you enjoy a movie with Remus without feeling awkward or embarrassed? And why was Kaitlyn so insistent with her baseless theory that you  _liked_  Remus?

You had a crush on Sirius. Sirius, who is ridiculously handsome and charming and witty and intelligent, and he was the embodiment of every teenage girl's dream; he rode a motorbike and smelt of smoke and whiskey and  _adventure_ and he–he–

He…dated your best friend for five months. In secret. And maybe he didn’t know what he was doing but it still  _hurt_ in ways you couldn’t even  _begin_ to describe…

You have to admit that things are different now, not only with Sirius but yourself. How had you even  _managed_ to say more than three words to Sirius, let alone confront him about his playboy habits? It was as though the words had tumbled from your lips without actually realizing what they meant. You probably wouldn’t have that kind of confidence again…and certainly not with Sirius…

A soft snore issues from Kaitlyn’s beanbag. You glance over at her and smile, finding her curled into a ball like a cat, fast asleep.  

“She’s asleep?” Remus asks, amusement in his voice.

“Yeah, she is–” You whisper as you turn back to him and you nearly gasp, suddenly aware of how close he is. Remus seems to notice this and tries to shift but the bean bag only pushes the two of you closer. You both laugh nervously until Remus gives up and leans back in the bean bag, resting his head against your trunk.

“Have you read the book to this?” Remus asks, nodding at the movie. You smile and nod.

“I read it every Christmas. One of my favourite things about Christmas, actually.”

Remus considers you for a moment before he turns back to the screen, “I really love this film but…I don’t know…there’s something about the book that contains certain magic the films can’t quite capture.”

“Isn’t that the case with most film adaptions?” you ask and Remus nods in a ‘Touché’ manner. You smile at Remus, eyes studying him for a moment longer than necessary, lingering on the curve of his lips as they quirk into a smile, and the weight of your worries seem to tear up between your ribs like a long, blunt knife and puncture your heart.

Your expression must have shifted because Remus notices and he places a hand on yours.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?” he asks, concern heavy in his voice, and after a moment of hesitation, you reply.

“I’m just…” you trail off, not sure how to describe it. Is it fear? Confusion? Guilt? Or all three? You sigh, and Remus seems to read your words without you even saying them.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Remus murmurs, softly, “These are trying times and you have a big task on your shoulders. But you’re not alone, we’re here for you…” After a short pause, a smile flickers on Remus’ lips, “I’m here.”

You smile warmly at Remus, wondering how you got so lucky, and rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his arm drape across your shoulders, holding you close.

* * *

 

 

Hogsmeade is beautiful this time of year.

Sheets of snow are draped over the picturesque village, bathing the town's center in clouds of fluffy white. Fairy lights have been strung between the buildings, sparkling like constellations that have been stolen from a midnight sky and stretched across the town. The whole village seems to bask in the warmth of that joyous Christmas glow, excitement mingling in the air with the sprinkling of snowflakes.

You smile as you walk beside Regulus, your hands in your pockets to keep them warm. Your breath crystallizes before you in plumes of mist, reminding you of how you used to pretend to be a fire-breathing dragon when you were eight or nine. Now, you can appreciate the beauty of it, as well as the aesthetically delightful beauty of the winter wonderland around you.

“Do you want to go anywhere first?” You ask, smiling softly at Regulus.

“Nah,” Regulus shrugs, “Let's go and get a Butterbeer.”

The two of you trudge toward The Three Broomsticks, which is full of cheery patrons. You peer into the window and glance at Regulus nervously. He doesn’t seem to notice your unease, so, mustering every ounce of courage deep inside of you, you follow Regulus into The Three Broomsticks.

It hits you like a sharp slap of icy air, stinging in your chest. Dozens and dozens of people stand around, laughing boisterously, cheeks flushed from the alcohol as Madam Rosmerta bustles past them. Your nerves tingle like a warning signal, screaming at you to leave while you still can as someone shoulders past you, and you feel like your diving head first into cold water, like the walls are inching closer, closing in all around you, and you can’t do this,  _you can’t, you can’t, you can’t_!

 _“You have to do this, whether you like it or not,”_  Kaitlyn’s voice says in your ear, “ _This is about Regulus’ life.”_

_You can do this._

You  _have to._

Regulus finds a table near the back exit and tells you to wait while he gets you some butterbeer. You oblige all too willingly, slumping into your seat and trying to focus on your breathing. Your fingers fiddle with your necklace, white gold passing through your fingers like a ribbon of moonlight while you take a mental tour through your body.

Starting at your toes, you close your eyes and you make your way up your body, focusing on different points and using your senses to tap into your body. You feel the way the floor presses up against your feet, how the leather of your seat feels beneath your touch, how each one of your vertebrae connected to your spine is pressed against the back of your seat, how the subtle chill of a wintry breeze breathes a gentle, crisp sigh against your cheeks.

Finally, you reach the top of your head, where the sharp prickle of tension seems to lessen as you focus on how each individual strand of hair pokes out of your scalp like an endless field of wildflowers. Your breathing has slowed at this point, to an easy inhale and a gentle exhale, pulling air in then pushing it out in a never-ending cycle.

You open your eyes.

Regulus is already sitting in front of you, staring intensely.

“Better?” he asks, handing you your butterbeer. You flush and duck your chin, accepting the mug.

“Yeah,” you breathe and Regulus nods.

“Good.”

Silence settles between the two of you as you enjoy your butterbeer, the noise of the rowdy crowd now reduced to a hum in your ears. Butterbeer always has a profound effect on you and coupled with your little calming technique, it sets your feelings of ease aside, like clipping a mad dog onto a leash for just a little while longer.

“No Kaitlyn today?” Regulus asks, glancing around.

“She’s with Peter Pettigrew,” you explain, “I think he asked her to go to ice skating or something.”

Regulus arches a brow, “I didn’t realise he was friends with a mudblood…” You frown at him and Regulus looks mildly confused for a moment, as though using the racial slur is now second nature to him, but then he realizes and flushes, “Sorry,  _Muggleborn_.”

“If we’re going to be friends again, we have to lay down some ground rules,” you snip, sharply, and Regulus nods.

“Of course.”

“One, you have to at least  _try_  to get on with Kaitlyn,” you say and Regulus winces.

“I…don’t think she likes me…”

“She doesn’t like most people,” you shrug, casually, “But she will consider you if you make an effort.”

Regulus seems hesitant but he nods anyway as you continue, “Two, you  _have_ to stop calling muggle-borns that word. It’s a racial slur!”

Regulus opens his mouth to argue the point but decides against it, choosing to nod silently.

“And finally, no more dark magic.”

Regulus’ eyes snap to you, widening, “But I don’t practice dark magic…”

You bite your lip, hoping that’s true and not just another lie, “Yes, I know. But in case you’re tempted to…”

Regulus nods in agreement, his expression oddly blank, as though he’s stretching the skin of his face into a look of apathy.

“Okay.”

He extends his hand and you take it, shaking over the table. You lock eyes for a long, lingering moment, in which you think he may never tear his gaze away from yours. But then his eyes drift to someone over your shoulder, and before you can follow his gaze, he pulls his hand away.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Regulus asks, nervously, glancing around at the drunken patrons crowding the place, “It’s getting a little crowded in here.”

You couldn’t agree more.

“Yes,” You practically cry, “Please.”

Swiftly, Regulus guides you out of The Three Broomsticks and into the back alley. He swings the door shut.

“Thank goodness,” you sigh, breathing in the cool air, “Fresh air.”

A smile pinches the corners of his lips, but it looks a little lopsided like he’s been practising something that should come naturally.

“It gets way too stuffy in there around Christmas,” Regulus says, putting his hands in his pockets, “So, where to next?”

You shrug. Decisions have…never been your area of expertise.

“I don’t really know,” you mumble, shrugging again, “Wherever you want.”

Regulus pauses in thought for a moment, “How about the Shrieking Shack?”

You frown at him, “The what?”

Regulus bleats a laugh of disbelief, “You’ve been to Hogsmeade how many times and you  _still_  haven’t gone to the Shrieking Shack?”

“That’s…not that creepy, haunted house?” you ask, slowly, dread inching up your spine and Regulus nods, “Oh…well…if you want.”

Regulus nods shortly and begins heading toward the Shrieking Shack, scaling the slope.

According to Kaitlyn, the Shrieking Shack hasn’t always been haunted, but some sort of horrific crime had occurred there seven years ago, something so grisly and cruel the village refuses to acknowledge it. They’ve boarded it up to avoid any vengeful spirits escaping and attacking the town, so the spirits, vexed and seething, let out painful wails, as though forced to relive their torture every month.

That’s what the village believes, anyway.

You and Regulus follow the twisted, overgrown path through the dense forest, distancing yourselves from the safety of the village. When you arrive outside at the fence surrounding the Shrieking Shack, Regulus turns to you.

“I suppose you’ve heard some of the stories about the Shrieking Shack,” Regulus says and you nod.

“Someone got murdered here or something,” you murmur, flicking a nervous glance at the crumbling house and wondering if the spirits can hear you. It feels weird, daunting even, talking about the events that have given this house its reputation while standing just outside of it.

Regulus shrugs, “I don’t know. But something is stuck in there against its will…like it doesn’t have a choice…completely alone…”

Regulus trails off into a sombre silence, his eyes glinting with something you’ve never seen before. You’re about to reach out and touch his shoulder when Regulus turns to you, his eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” he murmurs, “I need you to know that I never wanted this for you...”

“What do you–” you’re cut off when you collapse to the ground, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

It’s like you’re being pulled apart at the seams, stretching your cells apart and rupturing them. Like one thousand hot knives are carving canyons down the middle of your skull, splitting it open, blood spilling out and staining the snow. Like something is trying to claw its way out of you, scraping seven-inch nails up your ribcage and puncturing your chest.

The pain devours you, tearing your grip on the world away from your trembling hands as time and space seem to blend into one agonizing blur, and you try to scream but your shrieks of pain die in the air, as though it had gotten lost somewhere between your lungs and your lips, and you writhe in the snow, feeling it soak into your clothes, but it stings, like shards plunging into your skin, burrowing deeper and deeper, digging into your bones, into your  _soul_ –

“Well done, Regulus.”

You can only just register the hoarse voice of Mulciber; it rings in your ears and bounces off your skull like bullets. As he approaches, you notice the hungry expression crossing his face as he directs his wand at you.

“Now, take over from me. Prove yourself to the Dark Lord.”

Regulus’ hand trembles as he raises his wand, his mouth twisting and twitching like he’s trying to add a voice to the curse, but all that’s coming out is a gurgle at the back of his throat.

“Go on, Regulus,” says a new, greasy voice, “Otherwise I’ll take over from Mulciber.”

Avery steps into view, crouching low. His face looms over you, his gaze travelling hungrily over you, eyes like the open mouth of a starving, black hole. He trails a finger down your cheek, gripping your chin tightly.

“I bet she’ll cry,” Avery hisses, “She looks like a crier.”

“Leave her alone,” Regulus growls, his voice like distant thunder, “This is  _my_ trial, not yours.”  

“Make us,” Mulciber sneers at Regulus, and a fresh wave of pain washes over you, dragging you under.

A scream sears up your throat and bursts from your lips as your knees buckle, your bones suddenly too weak to support you, the all-consuming pain returning to tear you from the inside out. Your vision blurs, brain short-circuiting, as your body weeps, your energy dwindling.

A shadow ripples across the world of grey and white painted before your eyes, tangling with Mulciber and Avery’s silhouettes into a knot.

Suddenly, the pain vanishes, replaced with a soul-shaking throb. Your body, wrung out and weary, feels boneless against the snow, but you’re too tired, too weak.

The world dims, dark jaws unhinging, devouring you.  

You let it.


	6. Fix You or Show Me the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annnd we’re back baby! It feels soooo good to be able to publish this chapter after so long! A lot of things are explained in this chapter so yeah. Btw this chapter is dedicated to everyone who was trying to guess who Kaitlyn’s crush is and the couple of people who nearly figured it out: I got u.

Snow.

You can hear it crunch around you,  numbing your fingers as they curl around it, deceptively soft but still digging under your fingernails and shooting shivers through your entire body. Darkness surrounds you, but you suppose that makes sense given your eyes are still closed. A sweet, florally fragrance blooms in the air, resilient despite the cold. Distantly, you can hear the telltale echo of voices murmuring rapidly, so close but so far away, muffled like your ears are plugged up with cotton balls.

Focusing hard, you recognise a familiar baritone, spoken by someone nearby.

“It’s good that you found her when you did,” he says, and even in the darkness you can hear the relief leaking through his words, like colour bleeding into a blank canvas, “Otherwise I fear the worse could have happened.”

Professor Dumbledore, you realise, somewhat dimly. There’s no mistaking that rich, low rumble of your infamous Headmaster.

There’s a short pause, a delayed response.

“Will she be alright?”

A second voice asks one that seems to poke through the muddy presence in your mind like you’ve noted every single detail of his voice before in a million different ways. His voice is like smoke rising off the water, like the consistent and deliberate  _thud, thud, thud_  of rain.

It’s Sirius. He’s here. Your fingers twitch, body relaxing into the bed of snow almost automatically. It feels nice to sink into the icy cushioning of the bed of snow, knowing Sirius is right beside you. To let your body relax under his watch, knowing the silent promise of protection that his presence seems to elicit. 

You  _are_  tired, after all. Your body seems to ache like you’ve been pulled apart and stitched back together, and theres a prickling ache that shoots up the back of your spine, settling at the back of your head like a snake. But there’s something more to the pain, something that feels a lot like anguish, guilt, regret. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but it swells uncomfortably in your ribcage and presses up against your chest like an air bubble that’s close to bursting.

“Yes,” says Professor Dumbledore, “She’ll need time to recover, but she’ll be fine.”

Someone places a warm hand over your forehead, melting the flecks of snow that had settled there.

“She’s coming home with me,” says a woman’s voice, warm, calm and full of affection, “She’ll recover there for the rest of the holidays and then she can come back to school.”

She moves her hand from your forehead to your cheek, cupping it gently.

“As you wish, Thea,” Says Dumbledore, warmly, and a burst of excitement shoots through you.

“There’s something else,” Your sweet, strong and beautiful grandmother murmurs, “I must discuss something important with you, Albus. It’s about (Y/N)’s future.”

Time slips away again, like sand sliding down the narrow, slippery slope of an hourglass and your consciousness flickers, falters, fades, in and out of time like candlelight. You seem to float on the snow for hours, laying completely still, eyes not wanting to peel back just yet. The only thing anchoring you to time being the esoteric ache between your temples, throbbing painfully like someone had carved a six-inch valley down the middle of your skull. And, just when you think you may drown in all the shadows and pain, something - someone - breaks through the darkness like lightning arching across a starless, black sky.

“I came as fast as I could. Is she alright?”

The soft-spoken, masculine voice hits your consciousness suddenly, as though it had combed through thick branches to reach you.

“Yes, Remus,” says Professor Dumbledore, calmly, “She’s stable, still unconscious, but stable anyhow. It’s quite remarkable that she was able to endure the Cruciatus Curse for so long.”

There’s movement, and then a hand, large and warm, is melting the ice in the palm of your hand. It wraps around your smaller one like a blanket, warming you to your core. And, as much as you had liked the cold, the warmth of his hand is much more comforting in ways that you couldn’t possibly begin to describe.

“Well, she’s stronger than you think,” Remus murmurs. His voice warms you up like sunlight in your veins.

“She gets that from her father,” says your grandmother Thea, a small smile teasing her words.

Another beat of silence pulses between them.

“Oh - um - Mrs Ashton...I’m Remus Lupin. I’m a - ah - friend of your granddaughter’s...”

“Yes, my granddaughter has told me many things about you, Remus,” Thea says, fondly, “She’s quite fond of you, and I can see why. You’re a good friend to her...”

“I’m obviously not good enough,” Remus snarls, scathingly, “I-I won’t let him near her again.”

And then, the ice beneath you melts into cotton sheets and you recognise the subtle, honeyed sweetness in the air, realising that its not the forest's natural fragrance but the expensive perfume sitting on your dresser and it hits you like a bludger to the back of the head that you’re no longer lying in the snow but in your bedroom back at the Ashton manor. A part of you regrets coming to this revelation; it had been so peaceful in the snow, the cold almost like a comforting breath of fresh air filling your choking lungs. But then the hand around yours tightens, and a different kind of comfort fills you.

“I know we all have a lot of...strong feelings at the moment,” says Dumbledore, soothingly, “But that's nothing a nice, big mug of hot cocoa can’t fix. Besides, you should be resting, Remus. You are in frail condition yourself.”

“With all due respect, Professor, I’m not going anywhere,” Remus snips, determinedly, “I can't leave her again.“

“She’s at home now, darling,” says Thea’s calm, slightly accented voice, “She’s under my protection. No one would dare hurt her while I’m around.”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Remus begins, slowly, “And I’m absolutely sure that you’re more than capable but...still...I’d like to stay with her.”

“You might as well drop down on one knee and propose,” Sirius snickers, “Besides, Regulus isn’t going to come near her again. I made sure of that...”

Sirius’ words, spoken with a cold, venomous level of animosity you hadn’t heard before, triggers something deep inside of you and your eyes fly open. You lurch forward, gasping and spluttering, colour bursting in front of your eyes like a curtain being drawn quickly and deliberately.

Remus surges forward, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other squeezes your hand.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, softly, his eyes never leaving yours, “It’s alright. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

“Not sure if she really is ‘okay’,” drawls Sirius, “but whatever you say Moony.”

Remus ignores him.

“You’re back home in your bedroom,” he continues in a low, soft murmur.

Your heart thuds violently in your chest as your eyes dart around the room, taking in everything you can.

Dumbledore and Sirius sit at the end of your bed, the curtains drawn for privacy. Remus sits beside you in a chair to your right while your grandmother, Althea Ashton, sits in the chair to your left, as beautiful and as strong as ever. Morning sunlight streams into the room, bouncing off rows of glass bottles.

Remus' thumb drifts across the apple of your cheek, smoothing over your skin and drawing your eyes to meet his own. He looks concerned but calm, relief stirred into the deep blue depths of his eyes.

“R-Remus,” you stammer, weakly.

“I’m here,” he reassures and you lean into his touch.

“Grandmama,” you smile at Thea, who beams back.

“Just like your father,” she smiles, squeezing your hand.

“Miss (Y/N),” says Professor Dumbledore’s rich, smooth voice, “It’s such a delight to finally have you back with us after three very long days.”

You drag your eyes away from Remus, meeting Dumbledores benevolent blue ones, and the memory of your failure floods you, dampening the comfort that had once given you peace. Remus drops his hand from your cheek, taking all his warmth with him and you shudder violently like an exposed nerve. You feel exhausted under his twinkling gaze, ashamed and sad all at once.

You want to apologise to Dumbledore, to Grandmother Thea, to James, to Sirius, to Remus, to all the people who expected you to succeed. You want to apologise to Regulus for failing him. But all that comes out is a trembling whimper, soft and weak in volume and caught in the back of your throat.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Dumbledore says, as though he had reached into your mind and read your thoughts. He moves to your side, eyes shimmering, “In fact, if anyone should be apologising, it should be me. I underestimated the situation and I put you in danger. And for that, I am deeply sorry.”

You bite your lip, blinking back tears. One escapes anyway, sticking to your lashes before rolling down your cheeks, pooling on your lips like sea water.

“I failed him,” you rasp, thinking of Regulus’ wide, terrified eyes as they stared at you.

“No,” growls Sirius, folding his arms over his chest, “He failed you.”

You release a trembling sigh.

“Sirius is right,” Remus spits, acidly, “If Regulus truly was your friend, he’d have chosen you over the Dark Lord. He betrayed you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks and you wipe them away hastily. You take a deep breath in and exhale; your breath rattles on your lips.

“I’ll get the elves to make you something nice,” Thea smiles and gives you an encouraging wink before rising from her seat. Dumbledore tips an imaginary hat at her as she passes.

“So what happened after I...passed out?” You ask, not sure if you want to hear an answer.

“Sirius found you and attacked them,” Remus begins, “He promised to follow you while James and I were under the cloak. We got caught up in the crowd at The Three Broomsticks, you see. So by the time we got out, you were already at the Shrieking Shack.”

“How?” You ask, brows furrowed, “I mean, I didn’t see anyone in the forest? Usually, invisibility charms leave prints in the snow and usually, I can-I can sense when people are around me...”

Remus and Sirius exchange a look, edging around something they don’t want to discuss openly, or at least in front of Dumbledore. Sirius simply shrugs.

“He was in disguise,” Remus says, glancing at Dumbledore.

You frown a little harder. It still doesn’t explain why your sharp intuition hadn’t sensed anything. At the same time, you hadn’t realised you’d walked into a trap, either, so maybe your intuition was not as sharp as you originally thought.

“What about Regulus?” You ask, voice crumbling on your lips.

“What about him?” Sirius snips.

“Well, where is he?”

The three of them share a look. 

“We don’t know,” Remus answers, earnestly, “He ran off after Sirius found you.”

“But he can’t escape punishment for long,” Sirius adds, bitterly, “Eventually, he and his gang will have to go back to School and face the consequences. And they’ll get one last look at Hogwarts before Dumbledore snaps their wands in half and I shove it up their stinking ars-”

“-Actually...” Dumbledore begins, slowly, “They won’t be getting expelled, Sirius.”

Sirius’ mouth drops open and Remus leaps from his seat.

“Wh-What do you mean?” Remus stammers, “Professor, they used an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow student. They nearly killed her!”

Dumbledore sighs, rubbing his forehead, “I’m quite aware of that, Remus, thank you. But if I expel them, we lose our intel on Voldemort.”

“Is intel really more important than a student’s life?” Sirius barks, “They can’t just get away with this!”

“Who said they were getting away with it?” Dumbledore says, calmly, “They will get detention and Slytherin will lose points, of course, but they can not leave this school. They leave and they come under Voldemort’s control and that will come at a price we simply cannot pay. Lives are at stake.”

“Including (Y/N)’s!” Remus snaps, incredulously.

“(Y/N) has her life,” Dumbledore continues, “I do not believe Regulus truly wanted her dead. But I cannot say the same for the innocent civilians - both muggles and wizards and witches alike - who will be in unspeakable danger if more of Voldemort’s Death Eaters are let loose into the world. If we can delay the future, we must.”

“But-”

“Professor Dumbledore is right,” you begin, cutting Remus off and taking his hand again, “If Professor Dumbledore expels them, they’ll go straight to Voldemort and Voldemort will win. They have to stay here.”

Dumbledore smiles softly at you, eyes glittering like pools of aqua crystal, “Once again, I admire your wisdom and bravery, Miss Ashton. But for now, you must rest,” Dumbledore turns to Remus and Sirius, speaking seriously, “Stay if you must, Remus, I’m sure Mrs Ashton won’t mind. I’ve heard from James and Lily and they’ll be coming to visit sometime tomorrow. As for you, Sirius, I will need your assistance. Follow me, please.”

With a final nod and a warm twitch of his lips, Dumbledore leaves your room with Sirius in tow. Remus drops into the seat beside you, still clutching your hand, just as your bedroom door swings open and a tall, familiar witch strides in.

“(Y/N),” Kaitlyn sighs, panting, “Thank fuck. You’re awake. I was so bloody worried about you.”

She races forward and drops to your side, pushing a ribbon of hair off your face.

“Um, Dumbledore said that (Y/N) needs rest so...”

Kaitlyn stares at Remus, “I’m her best friend and I’m staying.”

Remus opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. Instead, he sits back in his chair and pulls out a large thermos.

“I can’t believe him,” Kaitlyn snips darkly, “And I can't believe I...” she cuts herself off, biting her lip and adjusting her glasses, “...anyway, are you feeling a little better?”

You shake your head wearily, “I’m sore but I’m also just...exhausted.”

“Well, yeah,” Kaitlyn says, unsurprised, “You were under the Cruciatus Curse for almost ten minutes. Any longer and you...Just as well Sirius...”

Kaitlyn trails off into a knowing, heavy silence that seems to loom over the three of you hauntingly. Remus holds out a steaming mug of hot chocolate and you take it from him, wrapping your hands around the mug and feeling the warmth tickle and soothe your skin. Taking a small sip, you feel the tension in your body soften a little. 

“It’s good to have you back,” Kaitlyn murmurs, ripping your hand away from the mug and gripping it tightly, “I was...we were all so worried. Even Sirius.”

“Sirius seems to have warmed up to you,” Remus mutters, staring into his mug of hot chocolate.

You turn to Remus, studying the way the light streams through the soft curls of his sandy brown hair. Smiling softly, you carefully place your mug of hot chocolate on the bedside table and take his hand in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Who cares about Sirius?” You shrug, casually, and Remus looks up at you. He smiles, and it has such a profound effect on your body, like watching the sun sink beneath the horizon.

_He’s so very beautiful..._

Kaitlyn smacks her lips together and you reluctantly tear your eyes away from Remus. Kaitlyn raises a sharp brow at you. She looks as though she may laugh. 

“Well, Remus,” Kaitlyn smirks, “I have two questions for you: One, does that hot chocolate have fire whiskey in it and, two, are you going to offer me some or what?”

 

* * *

 

 

A low whisper and a gentle brush of heat against your cheek wake you up in the middle of the night. You stare up at the delicate canopy draped over your bed and sigh in the darkness, wondering why your mind is playing games.

Remus is still sitting in the chair by your side, his head resting on your bed while he sleeps. You think about tangling your fingers in those soft, gentle curls but decide against it, not wanting to wake him up. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps like he’s resting on a bed of cloud.

 _Maybe he dreams of me_ , you think, hopefully, fingers twitching to touch him.

On the other side, Kaitlyn is curled up in your plush armchair, hugging her knees to her chest. She had managed to collect her thick, brown hair and throw it up in a tiny knot on top of her head to keep it from her face, but the bun is coming undone. She looks adorable, her glasses crooked on her face.

You release a soft sigh. With your two close friends on either side of you, the soft mattress beneath you feels even softer, like sinking into the soft clouds of a daydream. You smile to yourself, fingers reaching up to play with your necklace, eyes roaming across the room one last time before closing your eyes.

Your eyes slide shut.

_Big inhale_

_Gentle exhale_

_Inhale_

_Exhale_

_Inhale_

_Exhal-_

_Wait_

Your eyes fly open and you lunge forward, scrambling out of bed and rushing toward your dresser. Shockwaves of pain shoot through you but you push the throbbing ache to the back of your skull as you clutch the sides of your dresser, staring wide-eyed and in shock.

Next to your collection of delicate perfumes and your ornamental hairbrush is a book. And not just any book, it’s your beloved copy of ‘ _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.’_

The same book you lent Regulus.

“Regulus was here,” you whisper, eyes wide as you raise a trembling hand to your cheek, still warm from where Regulus must have trailed his touch across your cheek, “Regulus brought it back to me!”

Behind you, both Remus and Kaitlyn jolt awake.

“What happened?” Remus murmurs, groggily as Kaitlyn runs to your side, “Are you alright? Do you need me to get Thea?”

“Regulus was here, Remus,” you gasp, turning to face him with a wince, “I gave him my personal copy of Alice in Wonderland and he brought it back. He-he was here!”

“How did he know you were here?” Kaitlyn asks, frowning.

“They must have gone back to Hogwarts first,” Remus murmurs, “But they couldn’t find you so Regulus....got your address...”

“We used to write to each other over the summer holidays,” you explain, “So he must have apparated here.”

Remus’ eyes flit between your eyes and the book in your hands, guilt, shame and concern bleeding into his eyes. He pulls himself out of the chair and strides toward you, prying the book out of your grasp and blinking down at it.

“I promised that I’d never let him near you...” his grip on the book tightens, knuckles white with fury,

“Well that was a bit stupid of you, wasn’t it?” Kaitlyn snips and Remus’ eyes snap back up to you, “Of course he’s going to come near her! We go to the same bloody school!”

“Well obviously,” Remus snaps, agitated, “What I meant was that I never want him to hurt her ever again!”

“Well I don’t want that, either, but that doesn’t mean I go around making promises I can’t keep.”

“Stop it, both of you,” you snap, sternly, and they both fall quiet. You sigh composedly, “Neither of you can stop people from hurting me. Only I can do that.”

You take the book out of Remus’ vice-like grip and hug it, holding it close to your chest and thinking of your father, “Now I can't say that Regulus won’t try to physically hurt me again. But I  _can_  say that he won’t be able to break my heart ever again. I won’t give him an opportunity to do so.”

Remus nods in understanding, “I’ll be here to support you. Always.”

You turn to Remus, meeting his shimmering blue eyes. His eyes could contain the mysteries of the galaxy and no one would be able to read them, no one except you. And maybe that’s what this unspoken...thing is that lingers between the two of you, this silent understanding of how you both work and how the world you’ve both built up around you functions. And the connection is profoundly beautiful; an ethereal sort of energy that you feel deep inside of you, spluttering like a dying star being reborn again.

You look at Remus and you smile.

“Same.”

You jump. You had been so taken by Remus, you’d completely forgotten Kaitlyn was standing right next to you. You smile weakly at her and she takes your hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” she smiles.

As Kaitlyn begins to lead you back to bed, you glance out of your window, spotting a shadowy figure gazing up at your window from the ground.

“Regulus?” You whisper, recognising the familiar shape of his silhouette. He hesitates, and you frown at him.

Before you can tell Remus or Kaitlyn, Regulus is gone, swallowed up by the darkness, a ghost of the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, you don’t see Regulus for the rest of the week. You’re not sure what you’d do if you did see him. In fact, you’re not even sure what Remus would do if he saw him.

Probably something bad. Or Illegal. Or both.

Still, you can’t help thinking that Regulus took a huge risk by returning an ordinary book. You had leafed through the pages, wondering if he had left some secret message behind in the book but there was nothing. It was in the exact same condition as it was when you gave it to him.

You sigh, running your hand over the cover as you stare out the window from your window seat.

“(Y/N),” says a warm voice from behind you. You turn, finding Grandmother Thea approaching you.

“Hello Grandmama,” you smile.

Thea takes a spot beside you on the window seat, taking a moment to gaze out the window where the house elves are hard at work in the gardens.

“I must say, I’ve missed having you here,” she admits, “This house is so large and it only has me and the house elves in it.”

You cover her hand with your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, “Have you heard from Aunt Lie?”

“No,” she sighs, “She’s yet to reply to my owl. You know what your Aunt is like; she’ll sleep when she’s dead, that one.”

You hum in agreement, your lips twitching into a small smile. Your Aunt Delilah’s work ethic and determination have propelled her to the top of the mountain, or in her case, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement in MACUSA. She was even awarded ‘Witch of the Year’ for three consecutive years by and she’s always been a subject of admiration, especially for you.

“What about Uncle Logan?” you ask, and a pained expression crosses your grandmother’s face. 

“Still in St Mungos,” She sighs, “He tried to break out the other day. They had to restrain him...” 

As though dragging herself out of her thoughts, Thea sweeps her gaze from the manicured lawns bellow to your face and smiles gently at you, that same, loving curve of her lips that she passed down to her son - your father. But her eyes look worried, forlorn almost like she’s carrying a burden that’s too heavy for her. In the late afternoon sun, she looks older than her fifty-four years, the creases on her usually smooth cheeks looking deeper and more defined. It’s worrying; you’ve never thought that there was a burden heavy enough to worry the Great Althea Ashton.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, turning to face her completely.

Thea heaves a heavy sigh, “There’s something I need to discuss with you...something important.”

“What is it?”

Thea hesitates, biting her lower lip. After stringing her words together, she opens her mouth to speak but is cut off by a knock on the door.

“(Y/N)?” James’ voice sounds from the other side of the door.

“Come in.”

Your bedroom door swings open and James emerges from the other side, beaming as he approaches. When he spots Thea, James stops. He shoots a hand through his hair and bows his head, smiling.

“Mrs Ashton,” he greets, “You look as radiant as ever.”

“You flatter me,” she smirks, “Of course, a young man like yourself knows exactly what to say.”

“I’ve been told I’m quite the conversationalist,” James flashes a million dollar smile, “Among other things.”

Thea raises a sharp brow, “Oh I’m sure.”

_What the-?_

James grins devilishly, eyes glittering, “I would be happy to show you a thing or two, Mrs Ashton.”

You cringe, nearly choking on air as James winks at you. You really can’t believe this is happening right now Obviously, you knew James was quite the flirt, and your grandmother is quite beautiful. Thea laughs, rising from her seat and approaches James, stopping just beside him as her lips curve into a wicked grin.

“You wouldn’t be able to handle me.”

A single, surprised laugh escapes your lips at Thea's witty reply. You slap a hand over your mouth to contain the rest of your giggles. James flushes as Thea sidles past.

“That sounds like a challenge,” James calls out to her and you hear her laughter echo through the house.

James turns back to you, grinning from ear to ear and jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “She’s amazing.”

Nervous energy flutters inside your stomach. You hate being left alone with boys, especially confident, handsome and intelligent boys like James. Unsure of what to say, you blurt the first thing that comes to mind, which is...

“Do you usually flirt with other people’s grandmothers?” You ask, grimacing.

James saunters toward you and sits in the seat Thea had previously been sitting in, “Only when they look like  _that_. I wouldn’t even dare to flirt with Sirius’ grandmother, half the time, we’re not even sure what’s holding that woman together. Thea though...she’s a  _goddess_. She’s young too, younger than my dad.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “She was married by seventeen, pregnant with my dad at eighteen, raising three children by twenty-six and a grandmother by thirty-eight. She’s incredible.”

“Tell me about it,” James shakes his head, his hand taking through his thick hair, “Anyway, that’s not what I’m here for. I actually came to ask if you wanted to come out for a bit. We were thinking of taking you to a winter carnival we saw in muggle London...”

“We?” You ask, thinking of the crowds with a twinge of anxiety, “Who’s we?”

James shrugs, “Me, Peter, Sirius, Kaitlyn...Remus...” James gives you a knowing grin and a wink. You bite your lip, feeling a prickly heat swell in your cheeks.

“What about Lily?” you ask, recalling her visit the other day, “Is she coming? She’s a lot of fun...”

James looks away from you, his cheery demeanour suddenly fading.

“She’s not coming,” He murmurs, “Got her sisters engagement party or something.”

“That’s right,” you say in recollection, “Her sisters getting married, isn’t she?”

James scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah. Anyway, would you like to come with us? It’ll be fun...”

You stare at James, deliberating silently. Leaving the comfort of your bedroom seems scary when you think about it. Despite having recovered physically, you hadn’t really left your bedroom for long periods of time except for meals and bathroom visits. Since the attack, you hadn’t really had much mental energy to process anything, and staying in bed reading a good book sounded much more easier than having to venture into the cold, snowcapped world.

But this carnival sounds fun. And - if it turns out to just be noisy, crowded and cold - you’ll be able to return home and crawl back into bed. Your friends will understand.

“Okay,” you shrug, trying to appear nonchalant, “I’ll come.”

 

* * *

 

 

The winter carnival is bright and colourful against the shocking white of soft snow; a burst of light and colour splashed against a white canvas. It’s romantic and whimsical; the air smells of melted sugar and baked pastries and that crisp freshness that chills the wind in that delightful, wintery way. Kids are either screaming in delight, terror or dismay and parents are looking either exhausted, exasperated or both. Overall, the atmosphere is very warm, despite the December cold.

Rows and rows of stalls line the streets, with vendors offering exciting, winter-themed games and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Of course, the hot chocolate paled in comparison to Remus’ but they filled the spot. Still, it was fun watching James and Sirius experience this side of the muggle world. Sirius even managed to win James a large, fluffy reindeer, which the Marauders found amusing for some unspoken reason, and Peter slipped into a cheese fondue tent, spilling melted cheese down his front. A quick, cleaning charm by Kaitlyn banished the cheese away but the memory remained, and the boys were laughing for the rest of the afternoon, much to Kaitlyn’s discomfort.

You’re very, very glad you came.

“Look at this place,” Kaitlyn nearly laughs, beaming, “The last time I went to a winter carnival, I was eight and I don’t remember it looking quite as magical as it does now.”

“Really?” Peter asks though he doesn’t seem to be listening to a word Kaitlyn is saying.

Beside her, Sirius takes a swig from his flask and pockets it in the inside pocket of his black aviators jacket.

“Your sentimentality is nauseating,” Sirius grumbles, rolling his eyes. Kaitlyn glares at him through her glasses.

“Your entire existence is nauseating,” Kaitlyn snaps and Sirius barks a sardonic laugh.

“Real original, O’Hara. Did you figure that out all on your own?”

Kaitlyn opens her mouth to argue but Remus intervenes.

“Would you two shut it?” He snaps, irritated, “This isn’t about your little pissing contest, it’s about helping out a friend in need.”

Kaitlyn closes her mouth begrudgingly, shooting Sirius a nasty look. Sirius gives a sarcastic eye roll, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Ever the diplomat,” Sirius teases, shaking his head.

“Well someone’s got to be,” Remus snips, “With you and Kaitlyn always at each other’s throats...”

“Looks like a lot of unresolved sexual tension to me,” James murmurs into your ear, and you swallow a fit of giggles. Peter frowns, flushing furiously.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you Prongs?” Sirius sniggers, having overhead his best friend, and James punches his shoulder, hard.

“He’s always punching me,” Sirius whines, “You see the way he treats me, (Y/N). He’s cruel.”

“You deserve better,” you joke, grinning teasingly. Sirius rubs his arm, pouting exaggeratedly.

“I do, don’t I?”

Beside you, Peter mumbles something that sounds a lot like “He deserved that.” You and Sirius glance at each other, and Sirius shoots him a side long glance, but doesn’t comment.

“What in Merlin’s arse hair is that?” James gasps, gaping up at something just ahead of you.

Both you and Sirius turn, facing a large Ferris wheel, decorated in muggle fairy lights. From where you’re standing on the floor, you can spot couples cuddled up close together, kissing and laughing together.

You glance at Remus, only to find him already gazing at you and the two of you turn away, cheeks burning against the cold.

“It’s a Ferris Wheel,” Kaitlyn explains, tucking her hair behind her ear and flushing as James stares at her, “It works by combing gravity and centripetal acceleration, caused by rotation and angular velocity-”

“-Yeah, yeah some boring muggle science shit, lets try it out,” Sirius says, cutting Kaitlyn off, “Come on Wormy.”

Peter glances sheepishly back at Kaitlyn, opening his mouth as if to say something but the words get lost on his tongue as Sirius drags him toward the Ferris Wheel. James gives Kaitlyn a lopsided grin.

“Ignore him,” James says, flapping a dismissive hand at Sirius, “Lets give it a go while you tell me more about the - ah - ‘boring, muggle science shit’.”

Kaitlyn beams, cheeks rosy from more than just the cold. James listens, intrigued, as he pays for their ride and they climb into a gondola.

“So...” Remus begins, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, “Did you want to...”

He nods at the Ferris Wheel. You smile at him and nod, biting your bottom lip as Remus’ face lights up. You follow Remus toward the technician, who plasters a forced smile on his face.

After paying for your ticket, you and Remus settle into one of the gondolas. In the gondola in front of you, Sirius turns around to grin teasingly at you. Remus ignites him.

“So, how are you feeling?” Remus asks, casually draping an arm across the back of the seat.

You shrug, “Better. I feel a lot better, actually, but...”

“...You’re hurting,” Remus finishes and you sigh, rubbing the moon crescent on your necklace.

Remus leans forward and takes your hand in his, warmth suddenly flooding you. He smiles as he gazes into your eyes, and he doesn’t look away, not even when the Ferris Wheel awakens and slowly begins to rotate.

“Let me fix you, (Y/N),” he whispers, hand trailing up your arm and cupping your cheek affectionately. His thumb flicks over the smooth skin and you close your eyes, relaxing into his touch.

It kind of hits you; how natural it feels to be sitting here with Remus, his touch warming your entire body. Every doubt and every fear seems to slip through the cracks and out of sight, washed away by the certainty swelling in your heart.

All of it becomes a little more clearer now. Whenever you were upset or distressed, Remus was there, like he had listened to a call for help you don’t even realise you made. He’s always been there to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart, piece them together like a puzzle only he knows how to solve.

When he looks at you, he sees you. He sees every detail as though your were painted in screaming colours, vibrant and radiant and beautiful to his eyes. Never transparent. Never invisible. But real, very real. When he touches, he feels.

It’s no longer a choice between two, but a choice between confession or silence.

And if the past few weeks have taught you anything, it’s that there’s nothing wrong with taking a leap of faith.

Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes, the world coming back to you in dazzling colour. Remus seems closer now than he was before, his arm now wrapped around your shoulders. His eyes drink you in, keeping you bottled up somewhere inside his chest. The thought makes you smile.

“(Y/N)...” he begins in a whisper, “I-I really like you. I always have, since the day we met, I’ve liked you.”

Your smile broadens, a little laugh slipping from your lips as your gondola reaches its peak.

“I like you too,” you breathe, “I know it’s taken me a while to realise it but...I  _know_. I like you too.”

Remus beams like he’s swallowed a star, the worry and fatigue washed away by the joy that lights up his eyes. Slowly, he leans in, and you realise what he’s doing, what he wants. Your heart hums like a hummingbird gone haywire, fluttering inside your chest, ready to take flight on imaginary wings as Remus closes the distance between the two of you, tentative lips meeting yours for a gentle kiss.

Soft. Warm. Unassuming. These are just a few words to describe what it is like sharing your first kiss with Remus Lupin. He smells of cinnamon and tastes like chocolate and moonlight and fresh, clean air and it’s magical, whimsical, romantic.  

It feels like a black and white movie, where the music swells just as the lovers meet and they melt into each other in all the ways you had only dreamt of. Except now, it’s real, you’re really in Remus’ arms, tasting the slick sweetness of his lips and the hot desire that wells beneath them.

It makes you whimper when he breaks away hesitantly, shades of soft pink blossoming on his cheeks, that surreal, poetic dream fading away as you return to reality. He licks his lips as though he wants to memorise the taste of you, his eyes glued to the smile slowly crawling across your lips.

“Wow,” you whisper, suddenly giddy.

“Wow,” Remus repeats in a low murmur, “I’m still waiting for the part where Sirius shakes me awake.”You giggle as Remus presses his forehead to yours and sighs against your lips, “Please tell me this isn’t a dream.”

(He's tired of dreaming and fantasising and cold showers)

“It’s definitely not a dream,” you smile, a part of you shocked at how liquid you suddenly feel in his arms.

Grinning, he leans in to kiss you.

You let him.

(Right now, you’d let Remus do just about anything)

 

* * *

 

 

Remus has his arms draped around your shoulders for the rest of the evening.

Everyone knows but no one bothers to comment on this very new chapter in your life. Kaitlyn looks estatic, she keeps glancing back at you and Remus and grinning goofily as you stroll down the city’s streets, soaking each other up. James flashes a knowing smirk, winking at Remus as though he’s proud of him. Peter watches the two of you almost enviously, though he appears more happy than jealous for Remus. Sirius, on the other hand...

Well. Sirius is a little harder to read.

You catch him grinning at the two of you as you turn a corner, walking back to the dark alley you apparated to from your home. But when you all stop off at a muggle liquor store,

Sirius pulls you aside, his expression is more stern and - well - serious.

“Listen, (Y/N),” Sirius says in a low murmur, “I’m going to make this quick. Remus has never really had a girlfriend and he-he really cares about you. I know, you’ve been through some shit recently but Remus needs someone who he can trust. There’s more to him than what you know.”

“Of course he can trust me,” you snip, frowning at Sirius, “We’ve been friends for years, Sirius.”

“Yes but...look. Just-just be careful with his heart, okay? He’s never given it to anyone before, and he doesn’t deserve to have it broken.”

“I have no intention of breaking his heart,” you mutter, glancing as a drunk muggle staggers past.

“That’s what they all say,” Sirius whispers, and for a moment, you see a flicker of regret in his eyes.

Before he can say any more, the door to the liquor door swings open. James, Kaitlyn and Remus step through, carting two bags of alcohol each.

“Fake ID worked like a charm,” James grins, winking at you.

“That’s because it is a charm,” Remus chortles, walking up to you and pecking you on the cheek.

“What did you get?” You ask him, peeking into the bag.

“Just some vodka and gin,” Remus smiles, “Once we get you back home, we were going to mix some drinks and take them...somewhere. Do you have any cool hiding places in that impossibly huge mansion of yours?”

You rest your head on his shoulder as you begin to follow the others, “There’s a treehouse that my grandmother doesn’t know about. It was my fathers. He used to say that he would bring all his ‘girlfriends’ up there but that was just him pretending to be cool.”

Remus laughs, “Secret, make-out treehouse, huh? Might come in handy later on...”

Your lips crack into a smile as Remus leans in to kiss you, his arm wrapping around your waist and holding you close. You break away grinning, certain that you could do this for all eternity and never tire of it.

Remus tugs you close to him as you round the corner, entering the dark alleyway. You follow your friends into the empty alley, passing garbage bins and feral cats, until you reach the end, where you take Remus’ hand into yours.

“Is everyone ready?” James asks, glancing at you and Remus.

“Yeah,” you and Remus both answer in unison. Remus squeezes your hand.

“On three,” James says, and you close your eyes.

“One...”

You think of the large, iron gates outside the mansion.

“Two...”

You think of the perfectly manicured lawns and beautiful, flourishing gardens.

“Three...”

You think of your grandmother and her face as she welcomes you home with open arms.

With a crack, you disappear from the alley and land just outside the manors doors with a pop.

You open your eyes.

Your hand is still in Remus, sitting snuggly inside his warm, welcoming palms. James and Kaitlyn are laughing and Peter and Sirius are having a whispered conversation, glancing furtively at James.

“You guys wait out here,” you say, grabbing everyone’s attention, “I’ll just tell my Grandmother that we’re home.”

“Can you give her a kiss for me?” James asks, grinning, “Actually...you’d better not do that...” 

“I’ll come with you,” Remus insists, handing his bag to Kaitlyn.

“I think you just found yourself a new shadow,” Sirius teases, winking at you. Remus rolls his eyes, taking your hand as you push open the large, decorated doors and enter the foyer of your home.

Your footsteps echo on marble and gold, singing a familiar tune that you’ve heard since you were twelve-years-old. Remus follows beside you, your fingers laced together.

“Grandmama?” You call out, your voice bouncing off the walls. Unfamiliar voices echo back from the living room.

“You have guests?” Remus asks in mingled surprise and curiosity.

“I think we do...” you mutter, frowning, “Grandmama?”

“In here, darling,” Thea’s gentle, serene voice says, guiding you toward the living room.

You and Remus follow her voice until you enter the living room, excitement bubbling up inside of you as you prepare to tell your grandmother all about you and Remus.

“Grandmama, I-”

You stop, voice dying on the tip of your tongue, eyes widening in shock.

Two strangers are sitting in your living room, cast in vibrant shades of orange from the flickering fire. The first is a very tall man, strong and unyielding with all kinds of razor sharp edges. Raven haired and eyed, he looks strikingly handsome, his features familiar in a daunting way. You could slice your finger across his firm jawline or get sucked into the depths of his dark, glinting eyes. He holds himself with aristocratic dignity, spine steeled and demeanour cold and unforgiving.

The second stranger is a woman, young and very beautiful but cold to the touch. Her long, black hair is pulled into an elegant, French bun and her eyes are a violent shade of grey. Her painted, red lips flicker into a smile that holds no warmth, lighting eyes that have never known true love.

“Sweetheart,” Your grandmother begins, softly, “This is Orion and Walburga Black. They’re here to talk about your future.”

“What do you mean?” You murmur, frowning at Orion and Walburga. Walburga’s smile curls.

“You don’t know, do you?” Walburgas voice is like a breath of cold air, icier than any winter you’ve ever known. Behind Walburga, a shadow ripples, peeling back to reveal a third figure, though he’s no stranger.

Regulus steps forward into the amber light of the fire, and you feel Remus’ hold on your hand tighten. Bile turns in your stomach, threatening to surge up the length of your throat. Regulus doesn’t quite meet your eyes, instead, he chooses to stare at your necklace.

“What’s going on?” You whisper, turning to your grandmother.

Your grandmother sighs, and for the first time since you’ve known her, she looks as though she may cry, “Regulus is your...your...”

Regulus steels, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin, fixing himself to stare into your eyes. Without even a hint of hesitation, Regulus speaks firmly, a coldness to his voice that you’ve never heard before.

“I’m your betrothed,” Regulus states, apathetically, “This time next year, we are to be married.”


	7. Be Alright or Wish You Were Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! I think I'm getting into a bit of a routine with my writing now, but I will start focusing on other requests that I get now on my tumblr blog (@sirius) Be aware that toward the end, there is graphic description of blood and suicide mention. thank you for your messages and comments etc i really love reading them!

The living room of Ashton Manor is oppressively, unbearably quiet.

The silence stretches and settles over you like a bad omen, ringing in your ears ominously as you stand in front of Regulus, in front of Walburga and Orion Black, and Thea and all you can muster is a very faint, very broken...

“I don’t understand.”

Because you don’t. You don’t understand how you can go from kissing Remus Lupin on a Ferris Wheel to becoming engaged to Regulus Black in a matter of hours.

But you suppose that’s how fate works; in ways that no one can understand.

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Grandmama Thea coos, softly, “Not yet, anyway.”

Somewhere behind you, Remus Lupin gives a cold, derisive scoff, “With all due respect, Mrs Ashton, But are you really going to force (Y/N) to marry the boy who attacked your granddaughter.”

Regulus narrows a cold glare on Remus, “I didn’t attack her.”

“My apologies,” Remus snips, sardonically, not sounding apologetic at all, “Does ‘betrayed’ sound better to you?”

Walburga Black arches a sharp, black eyebrow and corrects Remus in a smooth, honeyed voice, “I don’t see how this concerns you,  _boy_. This is between the Ashton’s and the Blacks.”

A beat of icy silence, thick with condescension and frustration, lapses between everyone in the room. You glance at Remus, just in time to catch him frown and avert his gaze, lips pressing together.

“Of course,” Remus mutters, sourly, “I’ll be...waiting outside, then.”

Panic fills the ridges of your rib cage, stomach twisting into a piercing knot of apprehension and resentment as you squeeze his hand in a desperate, pleading attempt to keep him close. But Remus flashes a small smile, one that droops at its edges, like he had intended for it to be reassuring but couldn’t quite muster up the energy to make it convincing. He untangles his fingers from yours and leaves, footsteps creaking on the wood panelling of the floorboards.

When the door closes shut, Walburga straightens, stiffening her spine and raising her chin. Her eyes glint like light bouncing off the tip of a steel blade.

“Right, as I was saying,” she drawls, ominously casual, the faint edge of her French accent clipping her words, “We’ll need to organise the announcement dinner as soon as possible. Perhaps on New Years Eve.”

“Good,” Grandmama Thea nods, “I’ll make all the arrangements.”

“No,” Walburga snips, “I will. We’ll host it at our home. I insist.”

Thea cocks an eyebrow, expression neutral and masked, “Fine.”

A flicker of a smile flits across Walburga’s painted, red lips, “Excellent. Once we’ve made the announcement, we can begin planning the engagement party.”

“It’ll have to be after the school year has ended,” Grandmama Thea states, sternly.

Walburga’s expression freezes, posture steeled, “You do know what that will mean...for us...for  _you_.”

“I understand perfectly,” Grandmama Thea snips in a tone that can not be argued with, “But I will  _not_  put my granddaughter's education on hold. She will be an independent, educated woman before she is  _any_  man's wife.”

Walburga drums her long, slender fingers on her lap, “Of course. I believe it was you who once said that a woman with beauty can bend a man around her finger, but a woman with intelligence can hold the entire world in her hands.”

Grandmama Thea takes a sip of sherry, swallowing more than just alcohol, “I’m glad you understand.”

Walburga stands, running her elegant,  jewelled hands down the front of her dress, “In the meantime, I will begin preparations for the announcement dinner.”

“Excuse me,” you snap, irritation prickling across your scalp, leaking into your voice, “But I still have no idea what’s going on.”

Walburga shoots you an icy, sharp glare, heavy with judgment and disdain and boring into you like the merciless tip of a drill. There is no kindness or warmth in her eyes, like staring into the gaping mouth of a collapsing, white hole. They’re the type of eyes that could destroy an entire army if she wanted to.

“I expect you to be on time,” she orders, coldly, “My son's future wife must always be punctual, polite, well-dressed and composed.”

“Of course,” your grandmother gives a thin smile, mimicking Walburga and rising from the settee, “We’ll be there and we will be on time. I’ll see you out.”

Thea walks gracefully past you, leading Walburga out of the room. Walburga glides behind your grandmother with practised grace. She doesn’t look at you when she passes, wrinkling her nose as though you were a bad smell, chin held high and shoulders squared.

Regulus trails behind her sheepishly, eyes on the floor as though he were a weary dog on a steel leash being tugged along by a ruthless owner. Your teeth clamp down on to the velvety flesh of your inner cheek, nails digging into the smooth skin of your palms. The metre or so that briefly separates you as he passes to get to the door feels far too close for comfort and you take a step back, breath lodged behind your tonsils.

It’s then that you register a scrutinising gaze, unfamiliar and careful and burning into the side of your skull. Studying you, like you’re a squirming wreck of a specimen pinned beneath the glaring, relentless glass of a microscope. Reading you, like a foreign language has been scrawled onto your skin. You don’t turn to look, barely managing to suppress the shiver that attempts to crawl down your spine.

“You’re not what I expected,” comes the husky voice of Orion Black. He doesn’t sound surprised or disappointed but  _intrigued_.

“And what were you expecting, Sir?” You ask, nails burying themselves further into your clammy palms as you finally turn to look at him.

You wish you hadn’t.

Orion is more handsome up close, the razor-sharp lines and edges of his face accentuated in the firelight, composed and cool, a hostile curiosity lurking beneath the dark, clear depths of his colourless eyes.

“Not you,” He responds, coldly, in a snarl not unlike the low growl of thunder “Regardless, I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

With that, he stalks away from you and exits the room, his presence leaving behind a haunting feeling of dread, like the shivering whisper of vengeful ghosts. You swallow the scream of frustration and fear climbing up the length of your throat.

The floor begins to sway beneath your feet, fault lines colliding beneath the thick crust of the earth and you feel your knees buckle before you drop onto the soft, moss-green cushioning of a settee, burying your face in your hands.

This had to be a test of loyalty, patience, endurance. A hoax carefully crafted by Dumbledore to bend you to your limits. Your chest feels brittle, breath fragile and jagged as bile and fear and malice slosh together in your lower belly, burning through your gut like acid, puttering around at the back of your throat, bitter on your tongue.

“You must have a lot of questions.”

You jump, heart leaping into your throat. The willowy figure of Grandmama Thea stands in the doorway, casting sharp shadows across the floor.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” you breathe, voice trembling.

Grandmama Thea crosses the room and sits by your side, her presence infusing the air with her expensive, floral perfume. She grasps your hand in hers, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” You ask voice barely a whisper on your lips.

Grandmama Thea nods forlornly, “Yes, my sweet.”

You swallow thickly, steeling your spine and resisting the urge to dissolve into a sobbing mess.

“Why?”

Grandmama Thea casts her gaze to the flickering fire, “I suppose it starts with your father, Nicholas. He was supposed to marry Walburga, you see. The Ashton bloodline is a dying breed, riddled with blood curses and scandals and all sorts of dark secrets that would make the Devil shudder. So, to continue what was left of the Ashton legacy, I signed a legal contract with Pollux Black, Walburga’s father, that stated that when Nicholas came of age, he would marry Walburga and produce suitable heirs. It seemed like a smart match on paper; two firstborns from prestigious wizarding families joining together to continue the legacy and break the incestral tradition that is so prevelent in pureblood families. Only...”

Grandmama Thea breaks off, a wry smile flitting across her lips.

“I didn’t take into account how much of a  _rascal_  your father could be. He said Walburga was an ‘arrogant bitch with a thirty-inch iron wand jammed up her ass’ and he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life with her. I didn’t realise he’d already given his heart to someone else - you’re mother - a bright muggleborn witch he met while at Hogwarts. So, when he turned seventeen, he ran off with your mother and eloped.”

Your grandmother fiddles with her gold wedding band anxiously, a pained expression crossing her face.

“The thing is, a legal contract is binding, (Y/N). It demands repayment if it’s not fulfilled, and it demands a high price. It would have cursed him if it weren’t for my intervention...”

Your grandmother begins unbuttoning her silky, cream blouse, revealing several long, thick scars stitched into her smooth skin, starting at her sternum.

“What-?” You gasp, aghast. Your grandmother drapes her elegant, slender fingers over yours again.

“A mothers love for her child can be so profound, it can conquer anything, even death.”

Grandmama Thea drags your hand away from your lap and trails your cold fingers over the ridges of her scars, from her sternum to her naval, “Count them.”

Your brows knit together as you count them, touch ghosting over her skin. You bite your lip when you reach the last scar, understanding.

“Thirteen,” you murmur, realisation dawning on you, “For each year that the contract wasn’t fulfilled.”

Your grandmama Thea nods, “Every year, on the fifth of August, the day your father was supposed to marry Walburga, I would receive a new scar and the pain would worsen. Though the scar would heal, the pain would remain, like the wound was being unstitched every single day. But the pain was worth your father’s happiness, for if he had fulfilled the contract, I wouldn’t have had you.”

Thea sighs sadly, dropping her gaze as she pinches the pendant on her necklace, “I still couldn’t save him...my sweet boy. I couldn’t save him from-from those  _savages_ , those  _monsters_.” Thea’s eyes flash with something deadly, something unfamiliar, cold and cruel. She composes herself, reining in her anger and straightening her spine, “The curse is lifted for now, but I would still prefer that searing pain I felt every day for thirteen years than the pain that your father’s death has left behind. There’s no greater sorrow for a parent, to bury their child...”

Thea trails off, fighting back tears, one hand running across her lower belly. Your heart aches, throbs like an open wound. You sense her hesitation, hedging across the tip of her soft lips that are usually always curved into the smile you love so dearly.

“For now...?” You prompt and your Grandmama exhales a shaky sigh, buttoning up her blouse again.

“The contract is still binding,” she explains, “It still requires two firstborns from the Black and Ashton family to marry and produce heirs when both have come of age. It was supposed to be Sirius but since he’s disowned, the contract doesn’t consider him the first born Black.”

You huff a mirthless, bitter laugh at that, the irony of the situation not lost to you. If Sirius hadn’t been disowned, you would have been in an arranged marriage with the boy you had been infatuated with for so many years, the dreams you had once entertained during the haze of your blind obsession with him finally coming true.

Your breath freezes when realisation suddenly dawns on you, veins crystallising and blood running cold, “You said before that-that Regulus and I have to...produce heirs?”

Your grandmother nods sadly, lips turning into a sad, thin frown, “Yes, dear. I’m working to get that changed, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

Your stomach curls in on itself, twisting into a clenched fist. You don’t think you could even look Regulus in the eye, let alone touch him.

“I-I can’t do this,” you breathe, voice rattling on your quivering lips, “I can’t-I can’t marry him. I can’t...have sex with him, or raise children with him, after what he did to me...”

Your Grandmama Thea nods slowly. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she holds her warm hand to your cheek.  

“I would do it again,” she murmurs, softly, “If it means your happiness, I would take all the pain in the world for you, my dear. It’s my fault you’re in this position.”

You shake your head quickly, eyes welling with tears, “No. I would never let you do that. We’ll...we’ll sort something out.”

Your eyes drift to your grandmothers sternum, where her scars lay hidden beneath her blouse. How could your father be so selfish? Grandmama Thea had endured thirteen years of constant pain, and yet he was happily cruising through life with his pretty wife and blushing baby girl. Disdain suddenly floods through you, hot and prickly.

“You mustn’t blame your father,” Thea says, as though she had read your mind, “I should never have expected that much from him.”

A strange expression flickers across Thea’s face as she gives you a look so full of hidden meaning, you think you must be imagining it, “I’m-I’m not the woman you think I am.”

You frown at her, “What do you mean?”

Thea opens her mouth to answer, but at that moment, the door flies open and your friends stream into the room, rushing to your side.

“Remus told us what happened,” James says, looking sympathetic.

“She can’t marry him,” Kaitlyn snaps, eyes narrowing on your Grandmama, “He-he doesn’t deserve her. Besides, she’s already in a relationship!”

“The contract demands a legal marriage,” Grandmama Thea says, voice warm and filled with a subtle suggestion, “The contract doesn’t require you to love each other...”

You blink at your Grandmama, “Are you suggesting that I have an affair?”

Thea flashes a mischievous smile, eyes glittering as she flicks a gaze between you and Remus. You and Remus glance at each other and your cheeks glow at the suggestion.

“I said no such thing,” she murmurs, though her eyes dance with that familiar light, one you’d seen in your father.

“So, when is this all happening.”

Sirius’ voice sounds from the doorway and your gaze follows the sound of his voice, finding him leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His biceps bulge beneath his shirt, teasing a glimpse of strong muscle and smooth skin.

“We haven’t set a date yet,” Thea answers, thumb brushing against her wedding ring, “But it’ll be after (Y/N) graduates.”

“That’s two years from now,” you murmur, “I thought Regulus said we’d be married this time next year?”

“I bought you some time,” Thea explains, softly squeezing your hand, “I want you to have as much freedom as possible.”

Your eyes prick with tears as she runs her thumb across your palm.

“ _Carpe Diem_ ,” Sirius drawls, pushing himself off the door frame and sauntering into the room, “Sieze the day.”

“Exactly,” James says, grinning, “We’ll make sure you enjoy every second of freedom before Walburga and Orion Black suck it all up.”

“(Y/N) shouldn’t have to marry him in the first place!” Kaitlyn snaps, jaw clicking shut, “She shouldn’t have to marry anyone!”

Thea’s expression pinches into a wince, thumb tapping a nervous staccato onto her wedding band. Glancing at you, she rises from her seat gracefully, as though she were entertaining guests and catches your eye.

“I think I’ll retire to my bed,” she sighs, palms smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, “You are all welcome to stay as long as you like and make yourselves at home.”

With a final, loving glance at you, Thea whirls around and leaves, the click of her heels against the marble flooring echoing through the mansion. You sigh as you listen to her steps stretch into silence before glancing at Remus.

“I think it’s time that I show you all that treehouse.”

 

* * *

 

Everything is much easier, more funnier, less painful when you’re drunk.

You notice this as you explain everything that your grandmother had told you, how there was a curse placed on the contract, how your father had risked it all to elope and have you. You even parroted back what your father had told Grandmama Thea about Walburga, much to the amusement of Sirius and James. With the aid of liquid courage, everything seems to pour out of you, like ink spilling across parchment.

“I’m caught between a rock and a hard place,” you sigh, trying not to slur your words together, “If I marry Regulus, I’m trapped in a marriage I don’t want to be in with the person who betrayed me to become a death eater. But if I don’t marry Regulus, it’ll curse both me and my Grandma...” you trail a shaky finger down your sternum, to just beneath your navel, thinking of your grandmothers scars “All because my dad wanted to be selfish.”

“Was it selfish, though?” Sirius asks, back pressed against the wooden wall of your treehouse, “He was brave enough to run off with your mother, and because he did, you’re here.”

“But he hurt my grandma.”

“She tried to force him into marrying that dragon of a woman.”

“Because she thought she was doing the right thing!” You snap, coldly, “Grandmama Thea said that the Ashton family line is a ‘dying breed, riddled with blood curses and secrets’ and she’s right! my grandad died before I was born, my dad is dead, my Aunt ran off to America to escape her problems, my Uncle is in the psychiatric ward of St Mungos because he’s a drug addict hallucinating shadow monsters and masked men and my grandma...she thought she was doing the right thing by protecting the Ashton legacy.”

Sirius regards you with an unexpectedly cool measure of detachment, arms crossed over his chest, “The irony of it is, if - when - you marry Regulus, the Ashton line ends. You’ll become a Black, unless your Uncle gets better and settles down. The Ashton line has already ended.”

“(Y/N) is collateral damage,” Kaitlyn pipes up from the corner, her nails scraping across the cool, clear glass of her vodka bottle, “It’s not about the blood line anymore, it’s about fulfilling some dumb, misogynistic contract.”

James scoffs, taking a swig of tequila and wincing as it scorches his throat, “This is so fucked up.”

Remus hums in agreement, draping a careless arm across your shoulders. His fingertips graze the nape of your neck, a warm whisper of contact that you welcome with a small shudder. He taps the knob of your shoulder with his thumb absentmindedly, contemplatively silent, warm against your side.

“We were thinking,” James begins, tone infectiously lazy and deliberate, “It’s about time that you got your tattoo. Both of you.”

Kaitlyn bolts upright, blinking rapidly, “What?”

James and Sirius exchange a look, “We think you’ve earned your tattoos.”

You and Kaitlyn glance at each other, unsure of whether James will deliver the punch line or not. The following silence is answer enough, and Kaitlyn slumps back against the wall, a smile tracing the curve of her lips.

“Now?” She asks and James responds with a nod.

“If that’s what you want.”

You turn to Remus, expression uncertain, and he offers you a gentle, reassuring smile, “It doesn’t hurt.”

Tugging down on the collar of his shirt, Remus brandishes his Phoenix tattoo, which is perched just above a long scar on his left breast plate. Your fingers ghost across his skin, feather-light and cool, and Remus covers his hand over yours, splaying your fingers across his chest. His heartbeat hums beneath your palm, steady and sure, a rhythm dedicated to you.

“How do we get our tattoo?” Kaitlyn asks, mildly intrigued, her eyes darting between James and Sirius. James throws a nod toward Sirius.

“Sirius carries around a special quill. He tattoos it onto your skin.”

Kaitlyn stiffens at first, then visibly recoils, as though the idea of Sirius touching her could physically slap her, “No way...not Sirius...”

Sirius barks a laugh, mouth tilting into a lopsided, dodgy sort of grin, “What? You don’t want to get up close and personal?”

Kaitlyn shakes her head, almost like she’s tempted to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, she folds her hands over her chest mulishly, protectively, not meeting Sirius’ eye.

James gives her a careless, easy, smile, eyes glittering like he’s amused - which he is - and cocks a brow.

“What is it that you hate so much about Sirius?” James asks, lazily cracking his knuckles one at a time.

Kaitlyn freezes, tucking a thick chunk of hair behind her ear, “He’s a bully, a sleaze and a womaniser who thinks women are just pieces of property in his monopoly.”

Sirius shrugs, “First of all, that’s not true. I don’t think women are property, I think women are  _women_ , and that alone means they are already superior to men. I just happen to enjoy worshipping their bodies during sexual inter course,” Kaitlyn crinkles her nose and Sirius’ eyes flash as he continues, “But that didn’t stop you, did it love?”

Kaitlyn glares dangerously at Sirius, whose grin bends smugly, triumphantly, like he’s just won a first prize in a verbal spar.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter snaps, and Sirius slants a devilish glance at Kaitlyn.

“It’s doesn’t mean what you think it does,” Sirius answers, calmly, “So you don’t have to get defensive about it.”

“I wasn’t being defensive,” Peter snaps, defensively.

Sirius snorts a gravelly laugh, “Sure you weren’t.”

Peter frowns, face flushed from more than just the alcohol. He opens his mouth to argue further, but James hurriedly intervenes.

“So what about you, (Y/N)? Do you want to officially become a member of the Order?”

You consider James measuredly, reflecting on the past hour, the past few days, the past week. Imagining an extremely morbid future of fake smiles and resigned laughter and ostentatious ballgowns and the destructive glare of Walburga and the wiltering presence of Orion, how they would love to see you choke and splutter as they fit a diamond noose around your neck, squeeze the air out of your lungs, sink their claws into your flesh and tear out every nerve in your body until all that is left is a shell, a carbon-copy of their son, because that’s exactly what they did to him, what they  _do_. They expect other people to shrivel beneath their scrutiny, crumble to ash in their presence.

You think about how Walburga would squirm if she knew that her ‘sons future wife’ had a tattoo sketched by her own disowned, embarrassment of a son, and...

You smile.

“Yeah,” you say, confidently, “Alright.”

Sirius grins wickedly, climbing to his feet.

“Alright, Ashton. Where do you want your tattoo?”

For whatever reason, Grandmama Thea floats to the forefront of your mind, the anguish that had filled out every corner of her expression, her grief and her scars, faded mementos threaded into the lining of her skin, permenant reminders of a shattered past that she can’t quite escape from.

“On my sternum,” you reply, gently shrugging Remus’ arm off and standing. Your fingers outline a path through the barrier of your clothes, imagining the Phoenix stretching it’s wings across your ribcage, connecting your ribs together, “Right here.”

You point at the small triangle between your breasts. Sirius follows your fingers as though you were outlining a map, and then he coughs, his nostrils flaring, the tips of his ears pinking.

“You do realise you’ll have to take off your - um - your bra.”

In your peripherals, you catch the lines in Remus’ body tense. He’s holding himself preternaturally still, his posture stiff, like he's steeling himself for a fight.  

“Y-Yes,” you murmur, cheeks burning, “Regardless, I want it on my sternum.”

Sirius’ expression cycles through a range of emotions you can barely keep up with; surprise, curiosity, a little bit impressed, a little bit fascinated, and then they seem to fuse together into a smirk that reminds you of a patient serpent ready to strike.

“You continue to surprise me, Doll,” Sirius drawls, dipping into the inner pocket of his jacket and retrieving a white-feathered quill.

You glance back at Remus, catching his eye and gulping at how blue they are, deep, swirling shades of Prussian blue that reminds you of staring into the deepest, darkest parts of the ocean, the parts that hide sunken ships and age-old secrets.  

Remus climbs to his feet and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, “I’ll give you some privacy.”

You arch up onto the tips of your toes and capture his lips in a searing kiss, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him close. He tastes of vodka and smells like fresh rain and your head spins, lips breaking into a smile against his.

“See you soon,” you murmur, softly, pecking his lips one last time.

Remus smiles when he breaks away, joining James, Kaitlyn and Peter who idle outside on the wooden balcony.

“Well,” Sirius begins, “You’ll need to - erm - take your coat and shirt off.”

“Right,” you murmur, lacing the hem of your shirt between your fingertips.

Sirius turns, giving you privacy as you shrug off your coat, pull your shirt over your head, and bend your arms behind your back to unclasp your bra. You kick your clothes to the corner of the treehouse, covering your breasts with the clammy palms of your hand, skin puckering against the cold, winter air and repressing the shiver that tries to scale down your spine.

“Okay,” you say in a shaky breath, a spluttering nest of nervous energy glowing in your lower belly, wallowing with the scorching heat of the alcohol, warming you up despite the cold, and then the floorboards creak and Sirius shifts, turning around to face you and he-

He blinks.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

And then, he coughs, clears his throat, his grip on the quill tightening then slackening then tightening.

“Alright,” he mutters, steeling himself, “Sit - ah - sit on that chair and I’ll - I’ll begin.”

You wordlessly obey Sirius, dropping onto the seat nearby, watching as Sirius advances. He grabs another empty chair and drags it in front of you, settling onto it and then sliding it closer, surveying the delicate skin between your breasts.

Sirius taps your thighs and nudges them apart, scooting closer, eliminating any distance between you. The sudden contact making you jump.

“Sorry,” He chortles and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you realise you could practically slide onto his lap.

Tentatively, Sirius raises his fingers and you bite down on a gasp, shocked at how warm his touch is as his fingertips skate across your cool skin.

After tying his hair back into a small bun on his head, Sirius taps the tip of the quill against his knee and the feather changes colour, vibrant shades of orange and red and yellow shooting through the silky white.

“This is going to tickle,” he says, glancing up at you and meeting your eyes. You nod, confidently at first, insistant.

Sirius raises the quill and pricks your skin, quickly and deliberately, and a burst of orange blossoms beneath your skin. You gape down at the small fleck of orange, forming like a petal beneath your skin.

A peculiar sort of silence rings out between the two of you as Sirius concentrates, the tight prickle around your sternum lapsing into a dancing tickle stitching itself across your skin.

“So, why the sternum?” Sirius asks, the tip of his tongue poking out between his lips.

You jut your chin at him, remembering the fluttering Phoenix perched on the left side of his ribs, “Why did you get yours on your ribs?”

Sirius’ lips curl, red velvet peeling back to give you a glimpse of even, white teeth, “You going to answer every question I have about you with another question?”

You shrug, “Depends. Will you?”

The sharp, needle-like point of the quill pauses, hesitates. Sirius licks his lips, “Only if there’s something I’m trying to hide.”

You roll your eyes, irritation climbing up the base of your skull, “Why does there have to be someone with something to hide? Why do I have to have a  _reason_?”

“Because girls like you don’t just do things without calculating every single possibility first,” Sirius explains, eyes narrowing on yours, “It’s one of the reasons why Remus is so fond of you.”

You cock a defensive eyebrow, “Girls like me?”

Sirius flashes a wicked grin, “I mean no offence.”

The pin-prick tickle of the quill resumes, brushing between your breasts. Sirius licks his lips again.

A fragile sort of silence begins to stretch, tense and deep and thick between you and Sirius as he concentrates. You stare at the shadowed figures crowded on the balcony, laughing and chatting. You can see Remus hovering near the door, stealing glances at you from the doorframe.

“So,” you begin, slowly, shattering the silence, “I didn’t realise you were into art.”

Sirius shrugs, “I enjoy the occasional sketch here and there.”

You nod, a grin teasing your lips, “I wonder where Dumbledore got his tattoo done?”

Sirius splutters between a snort of laughter and a gurgle of disgust, “The senior members of the Order don’t have tattoos. It’s just us kids that wanted them.”

“Naturally.”

“Though I’m pretty sure that if Dumbledore wanted a tat, he’d be a lower-back kind of guy.”

“Yeah?” You giggle, brows raised, “How can you be so sure?”

“I just know these things,” Sirius chortles and you both share a moment of laughter.

It feels good to dissolve into something warm and comforting after such a challenging evening. You take a long moment to study Sirius, the way his smile fades as his laughter dwindles and how his eyes glitter. Finally, after silent deliberation, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip and sigh.

“The curse from the contract...” you begin, catching Sirius’ attention, “...it left permanent marks on my grandma. For every year that my dad wasn’t married to Walburga, it gave her a new scar. She was in a constant state of pain, every day of her life, for thirteen years. The first scar formed across her sternum, right...” you gesture to where Sirius is currently etching the Phoenix into your skin.

Sirius glances at you, his expression unreadable, even to you. He seems to be somewhere between contemplative and sympathetic.

“Anyway,” you continue, after a brief pause, “I - um - I chose my sternum because I wanted a physical way to remember why I’m doing this and who I’m doing this for.”

“And who  _are_  you doing this for?” Sirius asks, the tip of his elegantly long finger tapping out something unfamiliar on your thigh, as though in morse code.

“For my Grandma,” you answer, simply, “I’m doing this for her.”

Sirius arches a sharp brow, quill hovering.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head pensively, “You can’t do it for other people. People are...people can change. Even the people you trust, the people you love the most...they can change.”

Your brows pinch together at his words, slanting him a disbelieving glance, “Not my grandmama. She’s-she’s never changed.”

Sirius hums, low and non-committal. After another lingering silence, Sirius leans forward, so close you think he’s going to press a kiss to your skin, and exhales, breath hot and melting away the coolness lingering on your skin.

Something flutters beneath your skin, wings stretching and shuddering. You stare down at the Phoenix nestled comfortably between your breasts, her black eyes blinking to life.

“Alright, Ashton,” he grins, leaning back in his seat to admire his work, “You’re an official member of the Order!”

You laugh on impulse, a grin cracking across your lips in awe.

“Here’s how it works,” Sirius begins, plucking his wand from his back pocket, “Press your wand against her to bind them, so she’ll only answer to your wand.”

Sirius pulls off his own shirt to demonstrate. Sweeping your gaze hastily past the plane of rippling muscles of Sirius body, you notice that Sirius’ Phoenix is different to yours and Remus’ and even your own, and admire the attention to detail and uniqueness Sirius has given each one.

“After that,” Sirius continues, “If we need to meet, she’ll alert you. You’ll feel a warmth like sticking your hands near the fire when we need to convene. You’ll also be able to disguise her by tapping her three times with your wand. Try it when you’ve got your bra on.”

Sirius wheels around to give you privacy as you reach for your bra and clip it on. And after retrieving your wand, you follow Sirius’ instructions, tapping the tip against your Phoenix, who glows gold as she binds herself to you. True to Sirius’ words, when you tap three times in precise movements, she vanishes, though you can still feel her beneath your skin, emitting warmth like a sun captured within the furnace between your breasts.

You tap your wand against her and she reappears, a startling splash of screaming colour against your skin.

“Thank you, Sirius,” you beam as you slide into your coat. Sirius turns back toward you, eyes like liquid steel bleeding into azure blue depths.

“No problem,” he shrugs, his smirk a little crooked, “As I said, you continue to surprise me, Doll.”

Some part of you doesn’t believe him but another part of you, another part that knows better, thinks that maybe it’s true.

(It is, and that terrifies him)

 

* * *

 

_**October 31st 1979** _

_**Ashton Manor** _

* * *

 

 

This is the part of the story that Althea Ashton never tells. She keeps it hidden from the world, bottled up in a jar and held close to her heart. And maybe that makes her selfish, but as she watches her young family play in the gardens of Ashton Manor, Thea reasons that she doesn’t mind being called selfish for once.

The sun is a large, amber diamond in the sky, spilling golden light onto the lush, green gardens and catching on the gemstones on Nicholas’ crown. He’d spent all afternoon on that crown, charming it to make the plastic look real. He‘s always been clever with charms, clever with anything that involves logic and reason, and Nick has always encouraged that in his children, especially in his eldest son. Thea allows herself to smile, feeling her heart swell beneath her floral sundress. If Nicholas asked for it, Thea would give him the sun.

Beside him, Delilah beams as she unsheathes her wooden sword and pins her father to the ground with the tip. She’s only seven, but she’s proving to be the most cunning out of her siblings. Thea can already see it; Delilah Ashton, Conquerer of Men, Conquerer of the World. She’s already piecing the building blocks of her empire together, brick by brick.

“I’ve got you, you wicked dragon!” Delilah cries, triumphantly, as Nick pretends to surrender beneath her, “Now, release the princess!”

“Never!” Nick growls, glancing at Thea and giving his signature wink. A ribbon of blood trickles over his Adam’s apple. Thea frowns.

_That’s not right..._

Nicholas pounces on his father, “Delilah, go get the princess! I’ll hold the dragon down!”

Delilah nods dutifully and sprints past her father, running toward ‘Princess Logan’. He’s still too young to understand what’s going on, but he seems to be enjoying himself, fascinated with a butterfly perched on a large dandelion. Little Logan, the softest of his siblings, gentle and considerate and generous with his love. The world outside can be so poisonous, but Thea believes her little Logan will be the antidote that will cure everything he touches.

Thea sighs, closes her eyes, soaking in the moment. The summer breeze, honeyed and warm, caresses her cheeks and carries the sound of laughter and joy and...a baby’s cry?

Her mind is playing tricks on her, she reasons. There’s no baby here, not anymore.

Thea sighs, listening to Nicholas’ laugh. She’ll never share these moments with anyone, not even if they paid her to. These are just for Thea, a private viewing only she and her family can indulge in. She wants this to last forever, to freeze it in time.

“Funny how time can play games with us.”

Thea freezes.

_No, no, no, no, no._

She doesn’t want to open her eyes, afraid of what she’ll see. But she knows she has to, she must, because  _he’s here_ , the ghost from her past, playing tricks with her mind. The baby’s cry becomes louder, more insistent. She pushes it to the back of her mind.

_No, no, no._

Thea opens her eyes.

Paris lies on his side beside her, as handsome as a daydream, playing with something in his hand. He looks exactly as he did in school, like time hasn’t touched him at all.

Thea’s family hasn’t seen him yet. She should tell them to run, to escape into the woods surrounding the grounds while they have a chance, but she knows they won’t get far.

“Why are you still here?” Thea snarls, glaring at him, “I’ve told you to go.”

“I can’t,” he says, sitting up and leaning into her, “As long as I’m still in here, I’ll never go.”

Paris places a hand on her heart, feeling the way it pounds for him as he trails kisses along her shoulder, up her neck. Thea hates the way her spine melts like a stick of butter beneath his touch.

“A beautiful memory, by the way,” he whispers into her ear, “I wonder if they know the truth?”

Thea’s eyes widen as his teeth tug on her ear.

“No one can know,” she snaps, gripping the hem of her dress, “No one.”

“Of course,” He murmurs, voice hot and silky against her ear, “It’ll be our little secret, my sweet Queen.”

Paris breathes in the scent of her hair, hand trailing up her shoulder and gently wrapping around the elegant curve of her neck.

“I bet Dear Nick never does anything like this,” he growls, giving her neck a squeeze, “He doesn’t fuck you the way I did.”

“Nick has given me a life,” Thea breathes, voice trembling on her lips, “He’s given me a home and children to fill it. All you gave me was bruises and regrets.”

He hums, “But you loved it, didn’t you? You loved being my queen.”

Paris’ other hand runs up her leg, fingers dancing across her thigh, dipping into her panties. Thea gasps, pleasure and guilt mingling like firewhiskey in thick, hot blood.

“Maybe,” She breathes, her grip on her dress tightening until her knuckles go white, “But I hate what you did to me.”

Paris laughs, a low rumble in his chest as he worships her body, “You know that’s not true. Just like you know that you killed them.”

Thea’s breath catches in her throat, heart freezing, blood crystallising. The baby’s cries turn to screams.

“Wh-What do you mean?”

He chuckles darkly, his fingers spiraling as his other hand moves up her swan-like neck, “You haven’t taken your eyes off me, my Queen. So how do you know where your family is?”

Thea’s eyes widen as he grips her jaw and crashes his lips onto hers, forcing her into a searing kiss. Memories flood her consciousness, memories of their time in Hogwarts, where they had ruled as King and Queen of their own little Underworld. Thea whimpers, struggling to break away, to find her family and protect them, but Hades’ hold on her is too strong, and when she finally wrenches herself free, he’s gone, as suddenly as he appeared. Instead, she finds herself standing in her husband’s study, completely alone.

Thea’s eyes well with tears as she realises where she is in time, the part of the story that everyone knows. Heart hammering, she slowly turns around, cold blood pulsing through her veins and a distant, menacing sense of dread crawling up her spine.

In front of her, the body of her eldest son, Nicholas, lies dauntingly still, too cold and too stiff for an eleven-year-old, skin and flesh torn to shreds, exposing quivering nerves and cracked bones. Blood pools beneath him, she can almost hear it screaming for her.

The muscles in Thea’s legs feel like lead as she runs toward him, dropping by his side, feeling the way his blood soaks into her sundress and stains her forever. Thea begins to sob, clutching her sons lifeless body, cradling her little boy in her arms. She can taste his blood on her tongue, smell the strong, metallic tang and feel the way it curdles in her hands, sticking to her hair.

“Look what you’ve done,” croaks her husband, gravelly and strained, like he’d forced the words out with great difficulty.

Slowly, Thea pulls herself away from her son and turns toward her husband, who looms over her. The trickle of blood that she’d seen earlier in her daydream is now a torrent of red, streaming down the front of his shirt from where he’d sliced his own throat open. Nick nods at his son, and Thea turns back Nicholas’s mauled body, so small in her arms.

What she sees stills her pounding heart, raises the hair on the back of her neck.  

Instead of seeing Nicholas, Thea see’s her granddaughter, motionless, split open and bleeding liquid life into her arms.

And Thea-

Thea screams.

Thea screams until she breaks through the clouds of her nightmare and she’s sitting upright in her bed, throat corse  and lungs aching. She doesn’t see the shadowed figure slip away into the night, or feel the ghostly whisper of warmth lingering on the sheets beside her. All Thea can feel is cold dread, like a winter she’s never known, and amongst the chaos that rains down around her, Thea can only think of one thing.

“I killed her,” Thea rasps, as her loyal house elves rush into her room “She’s dead. (Y/N) is dead.”


	8. when the party's over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE YOU THOUGHT guys I am sooooo not discontinuing Young gods lmaoooo we still got another whole half of the story to finish my dudes!! I’ve really missed being able to post for you guys but now im happy again :)))
> 
> so, to refresh y’all memories: You and your best friend, Kaitlyn, joined the Order of the Phoenix, which has just begun in Hogwarts and includes the Marauders plus friends. Anyway, you had to spy on Regulus but things go to shit when he betrays you. You begin a relationship with Remus while you recover both emotionally and physically and just as you make your relationship official, you find out that you’re betrothed to Regulus due to a cursed contract your grandmother Thea signed to save the bloodline. Now, you’re attending your engagement party on New Years and drama ensues.
> 
> I should probably write a summary before every chapter but i always forget. anyway, here you go cherubs! enjoy :)

Twelve Grimmauld Place is hauntingly beautiful.

Against the backdrop of an obsidian sky dotted with distant stars that wink into existence, the Black residence seems to glitter from the ground up. The front garden is meticulously trimmed and carefully manicured, the smooth cobblestone path slicing down the middle of the small garden and leading toward the front door. Its razor-sharp edges and looming presence seems to embody a sense of cool elegance, much like its residents.

You fiddle nervously with the straps of your blue appliqué dress, your polished stilettos pinching the tips of your toes as an eerie sense of dread scrapes down the fine ridges of your spine. You shrug your coat around yourself, your chest feeling wafer-thin and your breath rattling in your throat as you stare up at the building.

Grandmama Thea stands beside you, intertwining her fingers with yours.

“Everything will be alright,” she coos, gently, her voice warm and syrupy.

You glance at her uneasily, stomach twisting into a heavy knot.

“How do you know?” You whisper, chest clenching.

Grandmama Thea regards you fondly, as though she has faith in you that is as vast and deep as the ocean. She gives your hand a squeeze.

“I don’t,” Thea admits, “But I have faith in you. You’re stronger than you think.”

You swallow, following her as she leads you toward the front door. You pause on the door steps, one foot in front of you, hesitating on the step. The tattoo on your sternum shudders, wings fluttering, as though reminding you of a hidden strength deep inside of you.

You shake your head and step forward.

The inside of the house is simultaneously everything and nothing like you were expecting.

Regal yet gloomy, the narrow hallway boasts sneering, family portraits and ostentatious wallpaper gilded with gold. You force yourself to ignore the low mutters that erupt from the paintings as their ominous eyes follow your movements.

When you enter the surprisingly large living room, you find Walburga and Orion waiting for you.

Walburga sneers, eyes scraping over you appraisingly. Her lips pinch into a purse, her fingers drumming against her leg as her piercing scrutiny drills into you.

“Hmph,” she finally huffs, “You don’t look so bad…for a halfling.”

Grandmama Thea’s eyes narrow, her voice cold in a way that you’ve never heard before, “You’ll find my granddaughter is a lot more than what she seems.”

Walburga raises an eyebrow, “I’ll believe it when I see it. Come, please, we have much to discuss.”

With that, she whirls around sharply and stalks out of the room, her black dress rasping on the floorboards.

You shoot Grandmama Thea a panicked look and she meets your eyes with a gentle, reassuring smile.

“I’ll be back very soon,” she murmurs, voice like sunlight. She drapes her elegant, gloved fingers over yours, running her thumb over your knuckles, before she turns, leaving swiftly and gracefully.

Your heart thunders and your pulse hammers as you move toward the door, following her, but Orion shoots out his arm, cutting you off with a stern expression.

“Not you,” he growls, voice low and gravelly.You step back and Orion turns, striding toward the door. 

Apprehension melts into a thick, sloshy pool in the pit of your stomach, swirling menacingly, like you had just downed a vial of poison. You shrink to the corner of the room, hoping that no one will notice you as other guests start to filter into the house, but many of the guests make a beeline straight to you, smiling sharply and masking their resentment as they smother you in false compliments.

You pin on a strained smile and thank them for coming, desperately trying to ignore the loud clanging of silver cutlery and the shrill echo of exaggerated laughter that rings like a hair-raising, blood-curdling cacophony.

“You look beautiful.”

Your blood runs cold, crystallising.

You turn to face Regulus, who eyes you with a masked sense of longing, his gaze lingering as it rakes down your body. 

Your heart hammers and your throat constricts, scratchy and dry from anxiety as you stand next to Regulus. He turns to you, considering you with an unguarded look of sincerity and awe and something you don’t quite recognise.

“I’m…happy to see you…well…”

Regulus sidles closer, leaning in as the warmth of his hand hovers over the small of your back, finger tips gingerly skating across the fabric of your dress. You flinch, breath lodged behind your tonsils as a greasy wave of sticky nausea swirls in your gut.

“How can you pretend like everything is okay?” You hiss, voice scraping painfully up your throat, “Have you forgotten what you did to me? Do I really mean so little to you?”

Regulus’ face ripples, cycling through a long, complex chain of so many contradicting emotions, you think you imagined it until his expression clears abruptly, settling on carefully guarded apathy. He clears his throat, dipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out a small, black box.

“This is for you. You’re supposed to wear it so everyone knows you’re betrothed.”

Regulus offers you the box. You glare at it, a sudden burst of anger flaring inside of you.

“I-I can’t wear that,” you whisper, voice scratching the back of your throat. Regulus narrows his eyes.

“You have to.“

“No,” You snip, sternly, “I don’t want to be-to be branded or defined by this…this life…”

Regulus considers you shrewdly, carefully, dark eyes ominous and calculating.

“Fine,” he sighs, conceding, “But can you at least wear it for tonight? Then you can give it back-“

Somewhere ahead of you, glass crashes onto the floorboards, cutting Regulus off. You jump, glancing around the room for the source of the noise.

Near the drinks table, a familiar-looking boy awkwardly sidles away from a puddle of shattered glass, blushing furiously. As he does, he stumbles into a waiter, who pours a tray of  assorted hors d'oeuvre over a short, stocky wizard. Regulus sighs.

“I’d better go and see to that…” he mutters, his expression sharpening angrily, and for a brief moment, you catch a glimpse of Orion Black in the dark depths of Regulus’ eyes. He stalks away, approaching the older wizard who is barking vulgar curses at the clumsy boy. 

Soon, everyone loses interest and the boys awkward string of spluttered apologies get lost in the chatter. His panicked gaze darts around the room until he meets your eyes and he rushes toward you, stomping on the older wizards foot in his pursuit. The older wizard’s walrus mustache twitches angrily, blotchy patches of bright red and bruising purple creeping into his face.

“Uh — nice party you got going on here…” the boy says, looking uneasy.

“Um…thanks.”

The boy laughs nervously, “That’s so funny.”

You frown, “What is?”

“Hm?”

You grind your molars, your patience thinning as you reiterate in a stern voice, “What is it that’s funny?”

“Oh…” the boy scratches his ear, “Um…did you not find that funny?”

You stare at the boy, completely confused by this conversation. Suddenly, recognition dawns on you, and you realise that you _know_ this boy. 

“You’re Ben Long-Jinn, aren’t you?”

“Hm? Oh, did I not mention that?” He scratches the spot behind his ear again, “Yeah…that’s me. And my name isn’t the only thing that’s long about me…”

He winks with both his eyes and shoots finger guns at you, bleating a nervous laugh.

“I’ve actually got an abnormally long middle toe,” he continues, “Seriously, he’s huge. I named him Zeke. Do you want to see?”

You frown at him, appraising him with a discerning stare. You’re not sure if he’s being serious or not but you shake your head anyway, no.

“Of course you don’t,” Ben sighs, slapping his forehead with his hand, “Look I’m…not good at conversations…or anything really…”

He drops his hand, revealing a circular red mark on the center of his forehead.

You bite back the urge to burst into hysterical laughter, “I can tell. You have a red mark on your forehead…by the way.”

Ben slaps his forehead again, rubbing hard, “Well, that is not at all embarrassing…Thanks… Most people like to make fun of me but you-“

“Benyamin!” Growls a harsh voice. Behind Ben, a tall, severe-looking gentleman storms toward Ben, expensive black robes billowing behind him. His large fists are clenched at his side, his dark eyes consumed with anger.

Fear flickers across Bens face and he cowers as the older man looms over him, scolding him in Mandarin Chinese.

“It was nice meeting you,” Ben whimpers as the older man grips him by the sleeve and drags him away

A light chime of silver rings out over the living room, demanding silence. The chatter of the crowd dies down and you spot Walburga and Orion standing at the other end of the room. Relief filters through the ridges of your rib cage as you realise your Grandmama must have finished her meeting with the Blacks and you search the sea of faces frantically, looking for hers. Before you can find her, you hear Regulus’ voice in your ear, sharp and clipped. 

“She’s not here,” he snips, shortly, “Pay attention.” 

You glare at him as a hushed silence sweeps over the crowd like an icy breath of winter air.

“Thank you all for coming tonight,” Walburga begins, and you’re shocked at the warmth that emanates from her voice, a smile drawn graciously over her lips, “It is a pleasure having you here this evening to announce my son and his beautiful fiancées engagement. We are very fortunate to have the privilege of welcoming Miss Ashton to the Black family and look forward to the future.”

Raising her glass, Walburga catches your gaze and raises her crystal glass. The crowd mirrors her, catching on.

“To my son, Regulus, and Miss Ashton,” She begins, eyes glinting as her lips break into a simpering smile, “May you be blessed with many happy years ahead.”

Walburga’s eyes don’t stray from yours as she takes an elegant sip from her glass, something ominously dangerous in the way they study you, as though she were a a ravenous predator assessing its prey. Your cheeks burn as everyone toasts to your and Regulus’ happiness, your stomach clenching, spine tingling under Walburga’s close scrutiny.

Orion clears his throat, “Now, dinner is served. Please, make your way to the dining room.”

You make your way to the dining room and find your name card sitting neatly on the table…right next to Regulus. 

You scowl at it, fighting the urge to knock it away. 

Regulus clears his throat and pulls out your chair. You take your seat at the long table, settling into a chair as Regulus pushes it in for you. He then takes his seat beside you, and the party guests copy, chatter bubbling up into the air once again.

You spot Ben across the table, and he waves at you, knocking over a cup of wine.

“It’s old school here,” Regulus murmurs, leaning toward you.

“I’ve been to dinner parties before,” you snap, waspishly.

Regulus scowls, sitting upright once again.

“Is this how we’re going to be?” He snaps, upper lip curdling, “We need to work together if we’re going to make this work.”

You narrow your eyes on him, bitter resentment bubbling up your throat like acid, “What makes you think I want to work together with you after what you did to me?”

Regulus narrows his eyes, “I wasn’t involved with that…in the torture bit…”

You dig nails into your palms, unease and animosity forming an acrid, chemical cocktail in your gut.

“Oh, you’re such a saint!” You hiss, sardonically, “So you may not have used an Unforgivable Curse on me, but your betrayal hurt more than any fucking spell.”

A horrid, thick silence passes between the two of you, flashes of that fateful day bursting before your eyes; cold snow and dark skies and an indescribable, bone-shattering flood of pain.

Regulus’ throat bobs, fingers curling into fists beneath the table, “When did you become like him?”

“Like who?”

Regulus stares directly into your eyes, his glare fierce and unforgiving like the pointed tip of a steel-cold blade, “Like Sirius.”

“Oh goody, my favourite!” Cheers a squat, middle-aged witch, clapping her hands together.

You suddenly realise that the entree has been served and you stare down into your steaming soup, appetite suddenly gone.

“Hyppogriff soup,” Walburga smirks, “A delicacy and a personal favourite of ours. You have good taste, Gertrude.”

A waiter brings out a silver platter and places it in front of you, lifting the lid. Your stomach lurches into your throat as the dead, cold eyes of a decapitated hypoogriff bore into you.

Something inside you suddenly snaps, like thin string stretched out on a torture table, prickling heat cascading down your cheeks. Tears cloud your vision as a nauseating tendril of anxiety sprouts inside of you like ugly weeds twisting thick roots around your lungs, choking them until you completely forget how to breathe. The walls of the room seem to inch closer and closer, boxing you in like a coffin.

Excusing yourself curtly from Regulus’ side, you rush out of the dining room and dash out the back door, bile surging up the back of your throat as you choke back salty tears. An invisible, vice-like fist clamps around your diaphragm and your chest heaves, head spins, heart hammers as you scramble for composure, breath sharp and jagged like thorns poking into your throat–

The air stirs.

Crisp perfume tickles your nose.

“What on earth is the guest of honour doing hiding out here?”

You freeze. 

Walburga Black saunters up to you, expression hungry and menacing and smug all at once.

“I-I Just-“ you stutter, digging your molars into the side of your cheek, “I just needed some space.”

Walburga hums, “Yes, you’re a twitchy little thing aren’t you? Frightened of large crowds and loud noises?”

You swallow as she circles you like a hungry predator, lips curved into a malicious, wolfish smirk, “You think the world cares that you’re a pitiful little half-breed whose parents were slaughtered by monsters?”

You blink at her, swallowing the lump currently lodged in your throat.

Walburga barks a cold, mirthless laugh, “The world eats up delicate girls like you, (Y/N). It devours you whole without thinking twice.”

She takes a menacing step forward, bearing down on you with glinting, mercurial eyes, a steel cold and venomously sinister energy buzzing frantically around her.

“You disgust me,” She growls, taking an invasive step forward,  “You don’t have what it takes to be a Black, you never will, no matter how pretty you are. You are a disgrace to this family, regardless of who your esteemed grandmother is and the scraps of false dignity your father left behind after his death.”

Walburgas lips pinch into a thin, tight line, “Your father was a disgusting excuse of a human, running off and destroying one of the purest bloodlines in the Wizarding world with a skimpy, little mudblood. I would have severed his head and mounted it to my wall if I ever got the chance…”

Walburga looms over you, her eyes sharpened with loathing and judgement but something else, too, something that looks out of place, peculiar, foreign, something that makes the liquid mercury of her eyes appear practically crimson from a certain angle, shot through with bolts of red and scarlet and ruby and a dozen of other shades of red you don’t even have the words for. Its dauntingly familiar, a glimpse at raw fury that she has passed down through the genetic chain to her eldest son, Sirius. You recall with a distant sense of dread the look of white-hot rage that had crashed over Sirius the night this all began, the night when you’d ‘interrupted’ their mission.

And then it hits you, hard and heavy, why she has you cornered, hoping you’ll curl and cower and dash off with your tail between your legs, and it’s so much _more_ than just blood purity, no, it’s a matter of the _heart_ and now you’ve got the monopoly on it.

“You loved him,” you whisper, snippets of your previous conversations  forming together in your mind, “You loved my father…”

Walburga flinches like a quivering, exposed nerve, eyes flickering, giving you a glimpse of raw shock and hurt and shame and everything that Walburga despises about herself. She recovers quickly with twice as much anger, pure rage crossing over her face like storm clouds as her eyes flare and her upper lip curls, peeling back to reveal a row of gleaming, sharp teeth.

“If I felt anything for your father, it was disgust,” she growls.

“Because he didn’t return your affections,” you continue, shocked at how she practically writhes at the word ‘affection’, “You loved him but he hated you. He said that you were an arrogant bitch!”

Walburga lashes out, gripping your jaw and digging sharp nails into your cheeks, jerking your chin upright, forcing you to stare into the electrical storm inside her eyes.

“Your father was a coward and a pathetic excuse of a man,” she snarls, livid, “He deserves to be where he is now, along with his stupid little mudblood of a wife.”

With that, she thrusts you away from her and you stagger backward, catching yourself on an empty bird bath. She wheels around, her contorted expression clearing rapidly as she composes herself, running her hands down the front of her dress.

“You know where the front door is,” she snips, cooly, “I’ll make up an excuse. You won’t be missed.”

Walburga wheels around and vanished into the house, leaving behind the lingering burn of embarrassment and the sting of where she’d sunk her nails into your cheeks.

“Are you alright?” asks a familiar voice. 

You sniffle, blinking through the hazy grey of unshed tears and gathering the scraps of your composure as you turn as gracefully as you can, spine stiff and head raised–

“Kamilah…” you rasp. 

Kamilah forces a little smile onto her perfect, plump lips. 

“It’s been a while.” 

Your eyes travel over her as she watches you carefully, her dark eyes swirling with concern.

Kamilah looks radiant. Beautiful. Angelic. Red velvet hugs the hour-glass slope of her curves, pooling at her expensive stilettos. The sleeves of her dress are cut off at the shoulder, dipping into a plunging neckline that teases a glimpse at the delicate curve of her breasts. Her hair cascades past her shoulders in black waves, thick and silky, one side pulled back with an elegant, diamond clip while the other frames her face.

You blink, sniffing as you straighten up, hands skimming over the smooth fabric of your dress, “I’m okay.”

Kamilah doesn’t look convinced by your obvious lie but she doesn’t bother dwelling on it.

“You - ah - you came,” you finally manage to say, awkwardly tugging at your necklace, “I didn’t see you at dinner…”

“We only just arrived,” She explains, “My parents…we had to see my sister. Nothing too dramatic, besides the Blacks knew we’d be running late.”

You stare at Kamilah, taking a moment to admire her startling beauty and elegant grace, “Well, you look beautiful.”

Kamilah flashes a dazzling smile that lights up her dark, molasses eyes as she sweeps an appreciative gaze over your dress, “So do you…”

Silence pulse between the two of you.

“I…heard about your accident,” Kamilah begins, concern bleeding into her eyes, “I visited while you were asleep and I tried to come again once I heard you woke up—“

“— it’s okay,” you interject, thinking back to the extravagant bouquet of flowers Kaitlyn had wanted to burn, “Thank you for your beautiful flowers.”

Kamilah smiles, a little sad at the edges, “It’s the least I could do,” Her voice is gentle, burdened with guilt and straddled with shame and she doesn’t quite meet your eyes when she continues with a whispered confession, “I’ve missed you.”

You slide your teeth across your bottom lip, “I thought you had lots of friends.”

A sad, very unKamilah-like expression crosses her face, brows creasing together as her pearly white teeth chew into her bottom lip.

“They’re not true friends,” Kamilah says, voice broken and distant and surprisingly cool, a contrast to her usual honey-warm tone.

You consider her, studying the way her long, thick lashes flutter and the moon-crescent bite marks embedded in the plump bottom cushion of her lips from where she had chewed them, the way stiff line of her perfect posture almost withers beneath your scrutinising gaze, and you feel a tingle of warmth of your between your breasts like you’ve taken a long said of fire whiskey, and you think about how much has changed between then and now, how your world has slipped and jerked around you like fault lines without end points crashing, colliding, an earth quake with out a warning.

And you think that maybe there are more important things in life than boys and secret flings and raging teenage hormones and all the things that had spun the wobbly, topsy-turvy axis of your world like a spinning top.

“—(Y/N),” Grandmama Thea’s voice sounds from the doorway as she strides toward you. She reaches out with a firm grasp and locks her fingers around your wrists, “We must leave. Now.”

“What’s going on?” You ask her, but Grandmama Thea doesn’t answer you.

Instead, she drags you through the house and leads you to the front door, wrenching it open with one hand before mincing down the front pathway.

With a crack, you disappear from Grimmauld place and reappear in front of Ashton manor. A chilly, winter breeze sweeps past like a lost ghost, the cold shooting down your spine like a long, icy nail. You shudder, worry churning in your gut.

“Grandmama, you’re scaring me…”

Grandmama Thea stops just outside the large, solid front door to the mansion, resting her gloved hands on your shoulders. She dips her gaze so that she can stare into your eyes, the corners of her lips quirking slightly.

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” she apologises, sincerely, “I know it’s all very sudden but there are some things that I need to take care of right now and I’d prefer it if you were here.”

You frown at her, “What things?”

Grandmama Thea digs her teeth into her bottom lip in thought, hesitating, “Lets go inside and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Your stomach ties itself into a tight, swampy knot of unease, an uncomfortable, sharp prickle coating the top of your scalp as you follow Grandmama into the foyer of your home.

Suddenly, a wave of light floods the room, washing up against gleaming marble and gold and banishing dark shadows away, revealing your friends. They burst out from various hiding places, beaming as their voices ring through the foyer.

“Surprise!”

You clutch your chest in surprise, heart hammering beneath your sweaty palms, though a familiar tickle flirts around the edges of your lips.

“What’s all this for?” You gasp sharply, glancing at your Grandmama Thea. The worry that had once etched her face has melted into an excited smile as she gazes fondly at you.

Kaitlyn is practically a blur as she rushes toward you, nearly toppling you over as she throws herself into your arms, Lily following close behind. James and Sirius linger in the background with Peter, waiting for Kaitlyn and Lily.

“We wanted to surprise you!” Kaitlyn releases you from her grip, “You know, take you out and have a few drinks?”’

“Make you forget about all the shit stinking up this place,” Sirius adds, waving his hand and gesturing to your surrounds.

“We knew how hard tonight was for you,” Lily continues, throwing Sirius a stern look. She takes your hand, her skin smooth and warm as she runs her thumb across the top of your knuckles, “So we thought we’d take you out tonight!”

“Celebrate New Years in style!” James exclaims, lips cracking into an infectious smile, “without all the vinegar wine and fish egg dip.”

“He means caviar,” says a soft voice from behind you and you turn, facing Remus.

Lily gives your hand a gentle squeeze and releases it, allowing you to take an unconscious step toward him.

Remus gazes at you with such warmth, you feel as though you’re basking in golden sunlight, like you’re sculled a whole pint of butter beer far too quickly and you’re gasping for air, because his eyes meet yours and cyan-blue electricity crackles to life deep in the pit of your stomach, hissing frantically with that enigmatic swirl of spluttering, syrupy warmth. It’s disarming; looking into Remus’ eyes, like peering into the darkest parts of the forest at night or gazing at the moon.

The moment is broken, however, by Kaitlyn, who clears her throat loudly.

“Should we even bother staying?” Kaitlyn asks, eyes glittering mischievously.

“Well you’re more than welcome to leave,” Sirius quips, smirking devilishly.

“Funny, I never asked for your opinion…” 

“Well, you got it anyway.”

As your friends begin to bicker, you notice in your peripherals the slim figure of your

Grandmama Thea and how she seems to edge away from the conversation, moving gracefully toward the door. You turn and follow her, taking long strides in an effort to catch up to her. When she reaches the door, you call to her and she pauses, hand hovering on the door knob.

“Where are you going?” You ask, flickering a nervous glance between her and the front door.

“There’s some…unfinished business that I need to deal with,” Grandmama Thea responds, vaguely.

Your gaze is half expectant, half worried as you nibble your bottom lip anxiously. Grandmama Thea presses her hand to your cheek, a gentle, warm embrace that you lean into willingly. The silk from her glove caresses the cool skin of your cheek and your eyes slide shut, a sunlit warmth blossoming deep inside of you.

“Now, promise me you’ll have fun and not worry about what happened earlier,” Grandmama Thea murmurs softly.

Your eyes flutter open as you return to yourself, the knot in your chest lessening slightly, “Okay…”

Grandmama Thea smiles and withdraws her touch from your cheek. She slides her hands down her hips and sighs shakily.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she states, opening the door, “Everything will be alright.”

You nod, swallowing back the menacing sticky lump of unease in the back of your throat, trying to convince yourself that you Grandmama is right.

* * *

 

St Mungos at night is always eerie.

Althea has always thought so, though she’s never let that stop her. She can’t let fear consume her like it had so many years ago, when she had made mistakes that have led to the consequences that are now haunting her today; tombstones she had buried deep in the past cracking open, letting out more than just skeletons…

Thea’s heels snap out a sharp sticcatto as she minces down the long, narrow hallways of the psychiatric ward, distant wails and delirious whispers echoing around her. She stifles a shudder, sliding her tongue over the top row of her teeth and biting down on the velvety flesh of her inner cheek. She’s faced scarier things than this, she knows it.

Thea doesn’t bother knocking as she pushes open the door, closing it behind her before striding up to her late husbands successor, Head Healer Richard Triton.

“How is he doing?” She asks, curtly, staring at her little Logan lying unconscious in the hospital bed.

“Still seeing that shadow monster,” Triton sighs, rubbing the heel of his palm across his forehead, “We’ve tried switching his medication but…it isn’t working. He needs a debriefing.”

“Don’t tell me what he needs,” Thea snaps, her voice cracking in the heavy silence like a whip, “He’s my son. I know what he needs, and he just needs time.”

Triton narrows his eyes, “With all due respect, m’am, but Logan has been in her since he was eighteen. That was nine years ago. He hasn’t improved, in fact, he’s gotten worse. He’s self-harming again, writing nonsense on the walls with his own blood and mumbling about a-a lost boy…”

Thea freezes. She turns to Triton, dread clawing up her spine like a hungry monster plunging fangs into her vertebrae.

“The lost boy?” She breathes, and Triton nods forlornly, confirming all of Thea’s worst fears.

“Yes, Thea.”

Thea frowns, mentally preparing herself for what she’s about to do, “Fine. But I’ll do it myself.”

Triton nods and steps away, allowing her to enter the hospital room. Thea can feel his eyes follow her into the room, lingering on her back.She isn’t sure if it’s out of awe, longing or fear…maybe all of them at once. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s felt gazes bore into her back. 

As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Logan stirs, heavy lids peeling back to reveal glossy, blood-shot eyes.

“Mama?,” he whimpers, swallowing, “Is this a dream?”

“No, my darling angel,” Thea approaches his side, intertwining her fingers with his in one hand while the other rests gently on his sticky forehead, “This is very real.”

Logan sighs, relieved, “I’ve missed you, mama. We-we have to find the lost boy…”

“I know, sweetheart,” Thea coos, blinking back tears, gently pulling her hand away from his forehead and snaking her fingers around the handle of her wand sitting in the inside pocket of her cloak “I know. We’ll find him. But for now, you should sleep.”

Thea grips her wand tightly, muttering a spell. Logan’s eyes slide shut as he falls into a deep, dreamless sleep. Thea sighs, hands trembling as she watches her boy, so young, so innocent, so gentle.

She raises her wand, closing her own eyes as she focuses.

“ _Obliviate_ ,” she breathes, her mind racing, dark memories unearthing themselves. Logan’s hand goes slack in hers as he drifts, and Thea swallows.

“Sleep, my darling,” she whispers, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead, breathing in the scent of his hair, running a hand down his cheek, the prickly stubble of his jaw grazing her fingertips, “And dream of us, the way we used to be…”

After one final glance back at her sleeping son, Thea steels herself, stiffening her posture and collecting her composure. She rejoins Richard, who regards her with an expression that is half impressed, half terrified.

Thea’s voice is cool and crisp, like the sharp points of cold icicles, “No more lost boys.”


End file.
